Nomad
by Sincerely Yours- C.M.D
Summary: Trapped on a small ship. No base, no planet, no friends or unit. It's simply Snare alone, unbelievably alive, and in the company of rogue Wreckers. Who knows what the future could possibly hold now. (AU-divergence, following the events of LSoTW. Mentions of violence, language and past gore. Eventual Impactor/Snare)
1. Chapter 1

**C.M.D: This is a fic idea that has been brewing in my mind since... geez... almost six years? Since the first time I ever read an IDW comic, which was Last Stand of the Wreckers (thus began my addiction) but I haven't had the chance to really get it going. I've finally stopped procrastinating and am intent on cranking this fic out, and with any luck will have it done in a couple months time (because I'm sorely behind the last several issues of the formerly-titled RID and Sins of the Wreckers and I know more stuff is coming out soon!) so be prepared for an influx of chapters for this story. And angst. And drama. And... Ah, you get the idea. Anyhow, please enjoy!**

 **i.**

He didn't understand why he was even alive.

Machines beeped around him, a thick casing around his helm to prevent him from bleeding out further. It wouldn't repair him but it would keep him alive -for a time. Around him, the sound of creaks and soft groans and engines thrumming nearby.

So he was on a ship. That informed him of so much. Prisoner or not, Snare could not move anyhow, thus could not confirm his status beyond that. All he was certain of was that he had survived and he was safe. For now.

The rest would reveal itself later.

Maybe.

 **ii.**

His chronometer was off.

The Predator was sure of it. It kept telling him that no time had passed, yet the sounds and lights had changed often enough around him that Snare knew that time was still moving. Doubts filled him though. Perhaps he wasn't actually alive anymore. Maybe, instead of surviving the hell of Garrus-9, he had fallen into a sort of purgatory; trapped in a void that was neither life but was not restful death either.

It would explain enough.

Better anyhow than the alternative that he indeed lived, and, possibly, this was some sort of prison Overlord had made specifically to torture the flyer. To drive him mad with uncertainties before boredom drove the six-phaser to resort to more entertaining methods.

Snare tried not to think how that second scenario seemed like the plausible reality. If he did, he'd lose the last bit of his sanity for sure.

 **iii.**

Finally, some sort of other life came to his little cell.

Unable to see, Snare listened as heavy pedefalls first approached the door; metal sliding back with a rusty hiss as another 'bot entered. He was certain they were mechanical, if not Cybertronian, for the Predator could hear their joints creak for a good oiling and atmosphere cycle through a series of canted vents. All was confirmed as his visitor drew closer, Impactor's face staring down at the injured mech.

"We've got you someone to do repairs," was all the Wrecker said, before there was the sound of another guest coming into the pitiful medbay.

Impactor glanced at the second individual, lip components fixed into the hard scowl he always seemed to don, disappearing from Snare's berthside to be replaced by some unknown face. The 'bot, also surprisingly Cybertronian, bore no symbols or other outwardly signs of allegiance. A neutral then. The Predator thought to say something but could not find the words. He'd used up many of them on Garrus-9, slowly gaining a dangerous Autobot's trust before turning him loose, in an attempt to escape the nightmare Overlord was insistent they all live in. Reminded of that hellish place only brought forth one truth: Impactor had not killed him as he'd begged, instead leaving him for dead or for another psychotic Decepticon to pick up for play.

Yet none of that had happened.

He'd managed to stay alive long enough it seemed (though not conscious) to be collected by the Wrecker later.

And now-

Now, Snare did not know. Powering down his optics, he decided thinking over the Autobot's reasons were best left to plague himself with later, and let the neutral do his job fixing him.

 **iv.**

Chronometer fixed, Snare now was aware of how much time he laid on that slab following his extensive repairs. Eleven orns, fourteen cycles, eight kliks and twenty-three point seven astroseconds.

The Predator hated the wait equally as much as he hated this unfamiliar silence. Garrus-9 had been anything but, and he'd grown uncomfortably used to the sounds filling the halls and skies in that Pit. Yet, there was nothing for it. He had to rest or his frame could easily crumble apart again and leave him seeping energon in pools -so said the neutral, anyhow. He was no medic and Snare would have taken more faith in his words if he were, but a smart engineer would proclaim his faults and the flyer wasn't stupid.

So he waited but that period of recovery had finally come to a close.

Wary, yet still eager to move again, Snare slowly pushed himself up off the berth. He removed the metal shell covering his helm, ensuring that the fresh welds would not come undone while he rested, and when nothing unfavorable took place, continued on to remove the supporting machines. They beeped for a moment, aware they had been cut off suddenly from their host, before the machines immediately shut-down in an attempt to save power. The Predator was only glad he didn't have to take care of that task himself.

Medical equipment was already sparse enough in this war; he did not have enough knowledge or concern to handle these devices with a careful servo to power them down manually. Better that they took care of themselves lest he damage them in some fascinating way.

He was stalling, he realized. Green optics narrowed in silent frustration. This near-death may have caused a lot more problems than first assumed, if his sudden penchant for side-tracking and inner pondering was any indication. Shaking his helm furiously to dislodge these redundant thoughts (and hating himself for it after as it left him aching and sore) the Predator quickly clambered to his pedes and marched stiffly for the door.

He wasn't certain what he would find on the other side but anything was better than sitting and waiting.

 **v.**

He expected this.

"You work to keep your place. Or you leave."

Somewhat.

"Your choice," Impactor informed, arms folded surely over his broad chest. "But, I doubt a 'con is gonna get very far with no Decepticon outpost around for at least a hundred kpc*."

Snare did not glare or make a snide comment. He merely stared the Wrecker head on, sparing only a quick glance around the poor shuttle and towards the other lil' mech that occupied the deck with them, before settling back on Impactor himself. The violent Autobot's proposition was hardly an offer; there was no other alternative, and the harpoon-bearing brute knew it.

Yet, this was not surprising.

Why save a 'con from an easy death unless he had uses? And Snare was confident that he had many skills plenty others would find valuable.

It wasn't an astrosecond more before the Predator nodded his helm in agreement. If Impactor or his annoying grunt were surprised by his complacency, they never said. The minibot turned back to the ship's controls while the purple warrior continued to stare Snare down.

Snare decided to wait for any orders he might start spouting- foolish or not.

"Good," was all the tank rumbled, his expression reflecting anything but, "You can start by scrubbing every inch of the closet you've been huddled in these last few decaycles. It reeks of wasted ozone and your scummy energon."

Already trying to get a rise out of him. Well, the flyer knew these types of games all too well and he would not be baited. Not by some Autobot too vicious for his own kind, but too weak to be a Decepticon. With no reply or returning jibe, Snare turned and marched back for the door he'd first come through; resolved that he'd make the floor shine so much, that big-mouthed idiot would see every horrible dent and greasy-rust mark pocking his frame.

 **vi.**

He'd become a maid.

Worse than that, Snare realized a few orns in. He was a _grunt_.

There were only three mechs in their rusting, little shuttle ship and the Predator created the less mess out of them all. Yet, under Impactor's orders, he'd been tasked with every chore the other two didn't wish to do. And probably hadn't for a while, given the state of the, well, _everything_.

Thrusters thrumming with building frustration, Snare was left alone to clean after two annoying lugs who either complained that nothing he did was enough or that everything he did was _too clean_. It left him pondering why he didn't just jump ship anyways -Impactor and his offer be damned.

Still, he didn't, for whatever reasons (pride, paying off a debt, some sort of ill-placed gratitude) so the flyer was left scrubbing the gears for the shuttle's docking door; disgusted by this task as it spilled red-tinged oil all over his servos and weighing the pros and cons of staying an indentured servant to the two Wreckers.

 **vii.**

Routine had a funny way of leaving one remembering the past.

The "past" in particular for Snare not having been "so long ago" as he would have liked.

Boredom in the monotony of his chores had led his processor into roving over recent memory files; perhaps his systems' method of ensuring that nothing had been corrupted during the shot to his helm, and to absorb, categorize and finally store everything away properly in his archives. Whatever the reasons, the Predator was trapped with a series of recollections he was better off without, yet subjected to re-witness with great discomfort.

The starting raid on Garrus-9, Overlord's intervention, the descent into the most hellish of realities, Snare's eventual betrayal to his remaining kind, the critical shot to his helm...

He should have died. The flyer knew it. Believed it with profound conviction. He'd hoped for mercy, just once in his life, and had been denied even that by the ruthless Wrecker's callous dismissal (his precise words were: "Shut the frag up, whiner"), thus he should have bled out. Or been the victim of another Decepticon's tortures. Instead, the same mech that had refused to kill him returned after the fight to collect him -the 'why' exactly still had not been answered and Snare wasn't sure it ever would be.

It didn't take a genius to understand that Impactor had narily escaped whatever justice the remaining Wreckers (those with a more concrete, moral high ground that is) would have meted out for the rogue Autobot. The shuttle, in all its dilapidated wonder, was a testament to the tank's hurried departure from the rest of the Wrecker unit. So it stood to reason that not even the Autobots knew that Snare still functioned.

What that meant for the rag-tag crew of two violent Autobots and one slave Decepticon remained up in the air. But whatever their course, wherever the silent minibot took them in this endless universe, Snare was sure it meant little good for any of them.

 **viii.**

Their first trip planet-side and the Predator was not allowed to leave the shuttle.

Snare curled his fists at his side, fuming silently, as Impactor turned to finish prepping for departure. So that's how things were going to be. Not only was he the ship grunt, expected to take care of tasks only ever left for _drones_ , now he had to be the shuttle babysitter too?

"Am I granted access to a weapon then, to protect against your suspected threat to this derelict?," the flyer asked sourly.

Impactor's response was to laugh. "Whatever for?," he sneered, looking back at the Predator. "One flash of that pretty, purple mark and I'm sure you'll be fine."

Another jibe at his faction. The Wrecker needed to find something new to try and torment Snare with. Though him trying _not to_ would be appreciated as well. In either case, it was obvious that the flyer wasn't going to be given a weapon and the shuttle didn't come with any decent defenses of his own, so he was wide open for attack should any 'bot attempt it. Wonderful.

Fuming still, the Predator busied himself with polishing the stools of the bridge chairs, now that they had been emptied of their filthy occupants. He became so absorbed in his task that he almost missed the two Wreckers tromping off out of the docking bay; close to firing his thrusters in outrage when the barbarians returned cycles later covered in energon and even more filth.

So it was going to be _that_ kind of situation.

 **ix.**

It became vastly apparent that he wasn't just going to be the maid or shuttle sitter.

Despite hitting planets, and asteroids and other pitiful rock-side hovels, Impactor nor Guzzle cared about anything other than obtaining some high-grade, weapons and ammo. The little bit of credit they earned from each of the odd jobs the two Autobots picked up as they wandered around space aimlessly was put only toward the three Wrecker "necessities". Not a single other thing was thought of.

Which was stupid. Snare frowned, looking at the list he had compiled in his own free time (there was a lot of that, honestly) and could only feel more frustrated. Aside from lacking any real leadership, Impactor clearly wasn't concerned about maintaining the derelict the purple warrior had chosen or ensuring credits were put aside for medical supplies.

So once again, the duty fell onto the Predator. Which wouldn't be such a problem if the flyer had been assigned the task by their "commanding officer", yet that wasn't the case; and having to find out that they were travelling about, low on basic rations, supplies and even fuel for the ship, was _beyond_ infuriating. Someone needed to oversee their finances as well, apparently.

The wise thing to do would be bring the issue up with Impactor and arrange for some credits to be given to Snare for supplies and other ship needs. A more level-headed officer would address the issue first-hand and work quickly to rectify it -the Wrecker was not that sort of person and expecting cooperation would be dumb on the Predator's behalf.

So he waited until Guzzle and Impactor disembarked from the ship for reasons unknown (probably a bar hop, more like) and the flyer set to work. Alone once more, Snare easily hacked into the shuttle's account, taking assessment of the value available and his long list of needs. Surprisingly, Impactor and Guzzle had racked up quite a number of funds, despite their excessive, personal shopping, but there still wasn't enough... The ship needed oil, lubricant and fuel, along with tools for more complicated repairs. Standard energon rations would be necessary for all of them and the medbay was severely understocked on even basic supplies. Definitely not enough credits available to fully restock.

Venting in annoyance, the Predator quickly went through his list again, shortening it to the most dire of needs before he began shopping; noticing that some of the funds had suddenly disappeared, meaning Impactor and Guzzle had already started their drinking binge. _Marvelous_.

Shuttering his optics slowly, the flyer finished the last of his supply order, watching in silence as the account continued to drop in credits. By the time he logged out, the two Autobots had managed to nearly deplete the entire account. Whatever. If this was going to be the worst of life with the renegade Wreckers, than Snare would be fine.

Nothing could possibly phase him.

 **x.**

He thought nothing could phase him.

He was wrong.

Suppressing a shiver, Snare tried to distract himself by oiling gears in the engine room again; not finding any solace in the menial task and instead glancing frequently for the narrow doorway. He couldn't hear much from the deck, but he knew the two Wreckers were there... Covered in more energon than any 'bot should be, optics bright with some sort of frenzy and an energy about them both that made the Predator very aware of his primal wish to flee.

So he had.

Truthfully, he would have probably run at the sight of so much energon dripping from their frames, but it was the way that Impactor had fondled his stained harpoon, his gaze searing into Snare's wings, that had urged the flyer to take refuge in the compact energon room.

It wasn't an escape, not really, but it was all that he could do given his options. The thrumming of hard-working pistons at least helped to soothe away the nightmare of a smiling pit-spawn with hungry, red optics, yet this unexpected scare slipped some doubts into Snare's recovering sanity.

Had he merely survived one hell to be trapped in another?

The Predator could not suppress his shiver this time.

 **C.M.D: Hope you enjoyed this new fic start! Yeah... it'll be in a snippet format. Less rambling inbetween. Also, for some more Impactor/Snare goodness, check out _FoxyTurttle_ on archiveofourown- feeder of my pairing needs in this desert of material.**  
 ***Kpc: kiloparsec. A unit of measurement in astronomy to measure distance between parts of a galaxy or planets and stars.**


	2. Chapter 2

**C.M.D: After getting really, badly sick for nearly a month and taking just as long to recover, it's been nice to get back to my writing though I wish I'd been able to muster up more chapters. All the same, please enjoy and hopefully I'll see you all next month with even more updates!  
As a side note, this chapter also contains mature subject matter not suitable for this site, thus has been censored. For the full, uncensored chapter, please follow the links available via my profile.**

 **i.**

It had been ages since he'd last recharged so little.

Ignoring his protesting systems, HUD messages blaring that he had not yet completed another de-frag session, Snare rose from the makeshift berth; pausing as he listened for any sounds outside the barricaded door. Aside from the usual ship noises, all was still. The Predator did not move just yet though. Surveying his room for any changes in environment, the flyer took the time to tune the more aching of his joints, using lube for the craft's own gears to ease the grinding he could hear between his most used limbs.

It was disgusting, but Snare had little choice.

Just when had he become a prisoner?

Locking himself away in his closet of a room for lengthy cycles, setting primitive traps and barricading doors, recharging in broken, disjointed lapses and always wary that a moment's rest would equal in his offlining... This type of paranoia the Decepticon had not experienced since his early stellar cycles in Megatron's army, where surviving meant more than fighting Autobots.

Being so subservient to his own anticipated fears did not please the Predator. This was all on Impactor, he thought angrily. The Wrecker was clearly unstable and he'd decided to drag Snare from a simple death and instead trap him into this flying tinbox melodrama. Well, the flyer wasn't going to play this game.

He had not survived Overlord and the horrors of Garrus-9 to be made a mockery of by an insane Autobot. The moment this derelict landed again, or neared a habitable planet, Snare would be gone. The universe be slagged what they thought of him.

 **ii.**

They made port not too many orns later. Snare felt it when they landed, rocked from recharge roughly as the ship bounced across solid ground like a drunken insecticon. Pulling himself up off the floor, the Decepticon quickly disabled his room's traps, the sound of activity already loud from the other side of the door.

"What's happening?," he asked, stepping out onto the cramped bridge.

Impactor was in the middle of greasing his gun, checking ammo clips and slipping smaller, more deadlier, devices into subspace. He did not look up from his work at the question, nor when Guzzle waddled past to larger mech to get his own weapons.

"We've made port," the Wrecker answered.

Snare withheld a snort of derision. "Obviously," he replied. "I'd like to know what my _duties_ are to be while you're gone." He actually didn't care to know what inane task Impactor might leave him with; the Predator simply wanted to glean some details from the Autobot so he could make quick work of his plans to escape, unnoticed.

Hefting a large rifle over one shoulder, the purple warrior turned to Snare, his face split with a nasty grin. "Oh, not much," Impactor said, a tickle of dread blossoming in the smaller mech's fuel tanks as the Wrecker continued to maintain his smile, "Primarily, you just have to shut up and look nice for the tag-along."

"Tag-"

The question was barely out of Snare's mouth when he heard a heavy _chink_ from behind him. One backwards glance revealed Guzzle had somehow squeezed himself to the other end of the ship, placing himself at the Decepticon's unprotected back; a large set of clamps for pinning wings and a pair of stasis cuffs hanging from his servos.

Fists curling at his sides, Snare glared at each of the Autobots, knowing he could not fight back.

 **iii.**

"A _real_ Decepticon flyer..."

There was a total count of twelve pair of optics in the little, hexagonal room. Three of which belonged to Snare and his two Autobot "companions" -the rest, were currently gawking at the Predator in a mix of surprise, hatred and grudging respect.

"Just like I said," Impactor spoke up, hailing a wave of clicks and clacks as their audience's guns jumped up defensively. Snare wanted to snort at the pathetic reaction, but he remembered that he was supposed to be playing the role of prisoner. Besides, Guzzle beat him to it. "Now," the purple warrior continued, taking a menacing step forward despite the ring of weapons locked on to them, "You promised a job once I shared my credentials. Do we have a deal or not?"

The slimmer mech in the middle of the group, apparently the leader, shuttered his optics for a few moments before finally nodding his helm. "Yes, of course," he answered, taking a step back and waving a servo forward. "Come this way, please. My mechs can watch your prisoner while we debrief you on the job in my office."

Guzzle canted his helm an inch toward Impactor, but the larger Wrecker did not look back once as he followed the neutral into another room; the minibot eventually heading after as well. Snare couldn't believe what was happening. First, he'd been shoved into these slagging restraints, dragged through a ramshackle asteroid port looking like it was designed by a Junkion, then forced down a narrow alleyway stairwell and into some underground base -and now Impactor was honestly leaving him alone, in the company of strangers that had nearly shot the Predator on _sight_?!

Turbines heating with a clammy mix of rage and -Unicron slag that aft!- fear, Snare glanced about the room slowly, taking care not to let even a single wing flap flinch. It was almost impossible. All of his training, his perfectly honed instincts, they burned with an urge that threatened to overcome the flyer's very will. Yet, despite confidence in his abilities, in close quarters like this and cuffed as he was, Snare knew he wouldn't survive more than a couple kliks if he attempted an assault. Perhaps when the rest of the pitiful gang returned...?

Caught in fervent battle planning and mental reminders to hold back, the Decepticon barely noticed when one of his guards suddenly lunged towards him from behind; slamming the restrained mech to the gritty floor before he had a chance to roll away. A hiss escaping, Snare tried to get his knees angled right so he could buck his attacker off, but a high-pitched whirring and the press of a hot barrel against his temple brought his actions to a halt.

 **iv.**

It was quiet on the derelict after they took off from the asteroid. After the events of his temporary outing, Snare decided to disassemble the majority of his traps. He kept one or two, to post at the door while he recharged, but there was no point to having the rest. The neutrals had, annoyingly, showcased that there was little the Decepticon had to fear from his two companions and besides, the ship would need its scrap parts back soon enough.

Thus, the flyer had fallen back into the usual routine, wondering when they'd make orbit for the Wreckers' latest job while trying to keep the scrapped craft running.

Less than several orns had been noted on his chronometer, before the ship was docking up against another, much larger, spacecraft in typical pirate fashion. Impactor and Guzzle reacted the instant the derelict crashed sidelong into the second ship's underside; yanking weapons free, ready to fire, as they stormed to the hatch and up the ladder.

Snare watched from a safe distance on the bridge, red hot sparks raining from down inside the hatch as the Wreckers cut their way into the other craft, knowing that he was not needed in this task. Taking a seat as lights began to flare in panic along the larger ship's underside, the Predator set to cleaning out little bits of grit from the dashboard. His chore was interrupted a few kliks later by Guzzle almost dropping back into the ship's hold with a grunt for the flyer to hole himself up in his room and not come out unless directed.

The Decepticon opened his mouth to protest when Impactor commed in, relaying that he had the hostages. Huffing shortly in annoyance, Snare gathered up his cleaning supplies, gave the dashboard one final wipe and headed for his room just as there came a clanging at the hatch ladder.

 **v.**

The return to the asteroid port was a quick one. Snare listened as the ship's engines rattled dangerously, strained to keep with the fast tempo the Wreckers seemed willing to push the derelict, and scowling at his walls the whole trip. He'd have left and made some comment to the purple warrior if not for the rescued 'bots the flyer could hear talking just outside his door. Not wanting to make a scene or listen to Impactor's irate snarking if he left, Snare kept himself as entertained as he could; feeling almost grateful when they finally rocked into port again.

The hostages left, in a clamor of thuds and low murmurs, and coming from his room a short time later, the Predator saw that Impactor was also missing.

"Where...?," he asked, turning to Guzzle running docking checks.

The minibot didn't even turn around in his seat. "Collecting payment," the Autobot grunted.

Snare pursed his lip components sourly but before he could press for more information, the harpoon-wielding Wrecker was strolling up the cargo deck, a large crate wheeled in front of him. He looked at the Predator, as if surprised by the mech's sheer existence, yet did not address the flyer. Instead, he turned his helm away, calling out to Guzzle.

"Supplies," he said shortly, a note of contempt in his vocalizer. "Come put these away then we'll blast from this slagging rock."

Guzzle slid out of his seat, shoving past the flyer and heading down the bridge to the crate Impactor had brought in. Not wasting a moment, the purple warrior punched the dock's release button, the door grinding closed behind them all.

Seeing that his plans for leaving would have to be postponed for now (certainly, Snare wouldn't pick this rock of all places to make his escape after his experience with the locals), the Predator returned to his room, keeping out of the way of the two Autobots.

 **C.M.D: Again, not the full chapter. To find out everything going on, check out my profile for more info!**


	3. Chapter 3

**C.M.D: A bit of a short update period this month. I had hoped I'd get a lot more done, but between unbearable heatwaves, work and catching up on commissions, my muses weren't as proactive in the writing department. In either case, please enjoy the latest chapters anyhow, with a special bonus chapter of Nomad goodness for your reading pleasure, and I'll see you all next month!**

 **i.**

The orns passed in slow succession following Snare's little revelation.

It had been a hard adjustment to the mech personally, though nothing really changed aboard the tiny ship. Actually, that was false. Impactor's behavior had changed. Instead of being a usual aft and moron, the purple warrior became guarded every instant Snare was in the same space as him. The Predator did not know the extent of what the Autobot remembered after his drunken confrontation, nor would he be the first to bring it up, but it was enough to create tension in their small ranks.

As solution, the flyer attempted to remain out of sight at all times. Yet, as time went on and the trio remained out in the vast nothingness of space, maintaining isolation became difficult. What was even worse than the boredom and feeling of being trapped, was the burning stares watching his every move with fervent intensity. Of course, that was quickly eclipsed when Impactor took up the habit of grabbing Guzzle randomly throughout their little misadventure and disappearing to his room with the minibot.

Snare immediately dropped whatever he was doing as soon anytime he heard the Wrecker's tell-tale grunt of annoyance heralding this act, heading for the loading dock and out into the inky black universe for a few cycles of silence as he clung to the ship's hull. The Decepticon absolutely _did not_ want to listen to the larger Autobot as he relieved some sexual frustration.

This at least, Snare decided, explained a number of things -even if his circuits crawled uncomfortably with the knowledge that someone (but Impactor, specifically) fancied him. By Unicron's horns, the mess the big idiot had dragged him into...

 **ii.**

They were late...

Snare checked his chronometer again, but the kliks read the same. Eight cycles. The idiot and his grumpy companion had been gone nearly half an orn. The Decepticon usually didn't care how long the two disappeared during assignments, but Impactor had even commed in, reporting that they were almost finished with this target and would head back shortly after. With an air of disdain, Snare had collected his cleaning supplies, closed the dock doors -which he'd left open to ventilate the ship of its foul scent of wasted energon and burnt rubber- then sat and waited for the Autobots' return.

Except, that had been three cycles ago.

Fingers tapping a faint groove into the dashboard, the flyer pondered over his options. Dusk was beginning to settle on the barren planet they'd landed on for some obscure reason, leaving the world outside the ship's cockpit a violent shade of magenta.

He could leave, Snare thought. After waiting for so long, he was finally grounded again; he could take the last of the rations and disappear before Impactor was any the wiser. Slag, he could even take off in this derelict and head for a familiar star system, abandoning the two Autobots.

And do what?

The question interjected itself aggressively in the Predator's processor, and Snare paused his finger-tapping, scowling. What life did he possibly have, anywhere? The Predator unit he hailed from had been abandoned on Garrus-9 to Overlord's whims, and even if he reunited with his faction again, the mech was certain that the corrupt hierarchy would have landed his name on the DJD's list for unjustifiable reasons. That alone would be reason enough not to return to Decepticon territory. The second being that Snare simply despised many of his "comrades". What to do then...?

A rhythmic tapping started up a tempo again, louder than before, as the sky continued to darken outside the ship. As the planet turned a deep indigo, the loading dock door opened. Like a comet, a jet burst out from the craft, weaving off into the sky with a quick growl of thrusters.

 **iii.**

He found them in the middle of a vicious fire fight. Organic bodies laid about in a myriad of bluish smears and half-distinguishable limbs; wetting the dust and creating a disgusting muck as dozens of pedes stomped through the remains. In the center of a misshapen circle stood Impactor and Guzzle, sprayed in blue and magenta liquid and bellowing wordlessly at the enemies that surrounded them.

They were injured, the flyer noticed with his sharp sight, but despite the wounds and plasma burns, they were still moving through the Decepticon horde that they had encountered. The Autobots' fighting though had deteriorated to a simple, mindless need to kill, allowing them the drive to preserve for as long as they had. Should he even approach the Wreckers? Would he not be slaughtered as well with his Decepticon kin before Impactor and Guzzle realized it was him?

Snare's decision was made when he saw Guzzle finally crumple to the ground; Impactor taking a shot meant to blow the minibot's helm clean off, that rendered his own shooting arm useless. Now the purple warrior only had his harpoon but it had already seen some wear and wouldn't last through half a dozen more 'cons. Gunning his turbines, the Predator swooped in as Impactor was surrounded once more, living up to his unit's name as he felled the remaining enemies before he even needed to transform.

Plating revolving, limbs appearing, Snare landed with a graceful flip, turning to the Autobots. It was unsurprising to find Impactor staring up at him, yet there was a touch of relief to know that the gaze was with a sound, albeit perplexed, mind.

"Grab him," the flyer said, pointing a finger in Guzzle's direction dismissively, "You need repairs before you send yourselves to the Pit."

The Wrecker still did not speak. Throwing an unreadable glance at Snare, he turned and haphazardly scooped the minibot up over his shoulder using his harpoon; tromping off slowly in the direction of their ship. Snare rolled his optical sensors in silent annoyance before following behind the other mech.

 **iv.**

"We need to land."

Lights blinked dully along the bridge; engines thrumming in a soft, clunky fashion as they usually did. For all that it was, the atmosphere was actually quite pleasant if one ignored the ship's poor state. Oh, and the glare the Wrecker was giving him. Snare scowled when Impactor said nothing, instead reaching for another bottle of engex, knocking over several empty ones in the process.

"Your comrade needs proper medical attention and there's no material left to even patch him up," the flyer pressed, hoping to get some sort of response.

Another drunken conversation was the last thing he'd wanted, but with Guzzle in stasis from wounds that would kill him if not treated soon and Impactor directing them aimlessly through space, someone had to be the voice of reason. _Again._

"Are you really going to just sit there and drink yourself to stupidity while the minibot dies slowly?"

"What the frag do you care for?!," Impactor finally growled, tossing the now-empty bottle at Snare. The Predator didn't flinch, even when it shattered somewhere behind his wing.

"You're the one who decided to 'spare me' from a decent death- the least you could do is ensure that both you and Guzzle stay online," he answered coldly, uncaring that the Wrecker slid his hook forward into view. "In case you haven't noticed, you have made it so that I am completely dependent on the daily actions and mercies of you two idiots. Or do you honestly believe I would survive more than an orn if I left this ship right now?"

Now the warrior was _mad_. "So, your concern is an excuse for ulterior motives," Impactor sneered.

"And you saving me wasn't?," Snare retorted, beginning to lose his patience. This was taking too long; he shouldn't have to convince the Autobot to save his own comrade! "Here, I thought I was going to be used for my vast array of skills, instead I'm being kept around because I'm a 'nice piece of aft'."

The Wrecker was on his pedes in less than an astrosecond, swaying for a moment before steadying himself. He loomed close, yet for how twisted in rage his face was, the larger mech could only gape stupidly in silence. "T-that... That's not so!," Impactor eventually stammered lamely. The flyer snorted in derision. "You're just a lying 'con with a greasy valve."

"So I'm lying when I remember you trying to force me into a frag a quartex ago?," Snare shouted back. He knew he shouldn't respond, stoop down to the Autobot's level, but the accusation- He'd grown so tired of this inane and stupid slag! Did he always have to take care of everything?

"At least I'm not the dumbaft who prefers to be raped over a consensual experience," Impactor snarled, taking a sudden one-eighty on his stance.

Snare was in the Wrecker's space instantaneously, turbines burning hot against his plating. "Are you insane?!," he yelled up into the Autobot's face. His frame was shaking, wings vibrating so hard against his back struts that if he noticed through his anger, the Decepticon would be worried about them falling off. "Do I need to spell it out for you? I hate fragging at ANY point! It's all a slagging waste of time!"

"What," the purple warrior returned, a taunting grin curling the edges of his mouth, "You some sort of freak then?"

There wasn't even time to reconsider his actions. The Predator reached for a weapon that he no longer possessed, intent on putting as many holes in the fragger as was feasible, and Impactor recognized his response in return. He was quicker to react...

 _Drip._

And he was also armed.

Servos shaking, Snare slowly turned his helm down, staring at the hook that was pulling out from his torso. Energon gushed out in its passage, glistening off the hook's barbed tips and sending broken bits of glass and wiring to the floor below in a waterfall effect. In the near darkness, it seemed like its own cosmic river.

"W...wha...," the vocalizer was too deep to be his own. Struggling against the hefty weight of gravity suddenly, the flyer managed to turn his helm back up, finding himself confused at the face staring back. An eternity later, he recognized the other mech as Impactor.

Strange, he looked...

Before he could puzzle it out, everything turned itself around; the floor and ceiling swapping places as the cold of space began to creep into the ship's hold. Or maybe, it wasn't really the derelict that was freezing...? Vents choking suddenly, Snare realized he wasn't standing anymore and that his frame, whichever parts were still mobile, shook with his final trembles. He... he was dying...

 _He was dying._

A figure broke into view over the Predator, distorted by failing visual pixels, only the white flare of their optics and the vibrant magenta glow somewhere lower landmarks in the black haze growing ever stronger. Hypnotized, Snare found himself staring at the lights in intrigued silence, a strange spattering of humming -as if someone was talking- registering through his audios.

Then, he saw no more.

 **v.**

" _P-primus! I didn't- FRAGGIT- No, th-this isn't- Don't DIE,_ please _!"_

 **vi.**

He hated this.

Surveillance cameras, barely functional, lit the room around him in disjointed patterns; their pale, staticky light pooling over the remains of a once prestigious office. Of the ones that still worked, only dark, desolate halls and fire-ridden skies were shown. Not a living soul was visible in any of the screens... yet he could hear their screams still echoing all around him.

"Ah, Snare." A coo from the doorway. "Look at you, so diligently at work."

Fingers clenched around his forearms, but he didn't turn away from the monitors. Reflected in the jagged teeth of the other boxy maws, he saw as Overlord stalked closer. The moment he disappeared from sight was the moment the Predator felt the six-phaser enter his field; energy fluctuations trying to tease along the smaller mech's sensors.

"Have the 'prisoners' been behaving?," the other asked. The grin was more than apparent in his vocalizer. "Oh! Maybe we've received some messages today. Hmm? Have we?"

"If there was anything to report, you'd be the first to know," Snare replied. There was no point to this banter. It was another charade; a game he didn't feel like playing.

A servo lighted itself at the very top of the flyer's helm and he stiffened despite himself. When it proceeded to follow down the flat of his neck and his spinal struts is when Snare cursed to himself silently.

"Thank you, Snare," Overlord said, every syllable enunciated clearly into the smaller mech's audio. Snare fought the urge to hunch lower. "You work ever so hard for me. I'm so blessed with your dedication and loyalty."

 _'I'm loyal to no one,'_ the Predator thought viciously, struggling to keep his wings immobile as deft fingers brushed over the plating in loving strokes. He hated this. Hated the way the warrior sought him out, touching him and dribbling sentimental slag, trying to dig deeper under the flyer's circuitry.

There was nothing real to it -no passion or sexual pleasure in its development- just the mad games of a mech who enjoyed tormenting each victim in the best possible manner. And Overlord apparently believed he had found the jackpot when he discovered Snare's secret.

Servos gripping his shoulders, the smaller mech had no choice but allow himself to be turned around; glaring when Overlord literally picked the Predator up, holding him tenderly against the other's much larger chestplates. "Don't look at me like that," the six-phaser chuckled, his optics shining brightly. He was loving every klik. "Now, now, Snare. We're not so different, you and I."

The words escaped before he could reign them in. "I'm not a monster."

Grin faltering for a moment, it seemed as if Overlord might simply crush the Predator in sudden annoyance. But it passed, and the smile was blossoming once more, larger than previously, as the warrior leaned dangerously into Snare's space, kissing softly along sensitive plating.

"On the contrary," the other Decepticon vented quietly, chuckling as he felt his victim squirm in discomfort. His lip components never strayed far from the red and black plating, "You can hide it from everyone, but you'll never keep it from me. You're a freak, my dear Snare; an anomaly amongst your kind. The only one who will ever understand you -accept you for the abomination you are- is another freak like yourself. Like, _me_."

His spark shuddered at the words; at the implications. He kicked, he writhed harder and he was finally held away from the warrior's frame at an arm's length. But not truly free. "Let me go!," Snare hissed, every circuit crawling, every fibre of his being demanding he purge himself of the other's presence.

Overlord looked down on him, smiling with pleasure, his red gaze penetrating deeply it felt, though he'd stopped treating the Predator as if he were a lover. He wasn't bothered by the smaller mech's threats, even Snare knew that. He just found this whole scenario... _fun_.

"We're kindred sparks, my lovely Snare," he said, dropping the flyer suddenly. "Only I am here for you. Never forget that."

Then he was gone.

Snare remained where he landed -limbs slightly akimbo and one wing flap bent painfully at an awkward angle- shaking with disgust and rapidly swelling rage. He wanted to scrub himself from pede to helm, but he wasn't sure that would ever erase the effect Overlord's words had left in his spark.

"We're not the same," he protested meekly in the dimness. Alone, but for the static and the mess. "I'm not a freak..."


	4. Chapter 4

**C.M.D: As mentioned, here's an additional chapter to the fic this month! I had actually hoped that I would be close to wrapping up this fic (as I'm _SEVERELY_ behind the comics now and about to depart to TFcon for the weekend) but alas, I've only just now hit the, uh, half-way point? Yeah, I think I can safely say the half-way point. Anywho, please enjoy the extra update, and do expect at least a couple (if not possibly more!) chapters per month on Nomad, until it comes to a thrilling close!**

 **i.**

Everything was on fire. As if an inferno was raging under his plating, melting wires and sensors, gumming up his joints with flaming tar created from his own internals. Sensor net screaming at the overwhelming feedback, Snare felt himself propelled from the blackness; optics onlining with a crackle of electricity, a shriek, that may or may not have come from himself, echoing across the white void.

Where was he?

What was happening?!

His frame spasmed violently in this new reality, processor barraged by a series of warning messages and red-lined issues, but the only thing the Predator could focus on was how he couldn't see a thing. Alarms were blaring all around him, not in his helm he realized, vocalizers and a myriad of other strange sounds creating a painful cacophony against his frazzled audios.

"The 'con is awake!," some 'bot yelled.

"Comm the CMO," a second vocalizer shouted.

Optics tried to focus in on the individuals, but the filaments had burned out in whatever trauma they had sustained. Now they could only see the world around in disjointed, multi-coloured fragments among a scattered map of black and white. One of the such blobs of kaleidoscopic colours shifted and swelled to Snare's right; a vocalizer attached alongside it.

"You can quit struggling. We have you secured tightly to the slab and you're in no condition to be leaving anyhow," the stranger said harshly. "Don't worry- we won't kill you. We have orders not to." The speaker didn't sound too happy about that. "But that doesn't mean you can stay awake."

Before the Decepticon could attempt to speak, something sharp was pressed against the base of his helm, sending a surge of energy so intense it actually overcame the blaze under his plating and threw Snare back into the darkness once more.

 **ii.**

The cell was larger than he had anticipated, but then again, Autobots were more merciful when it came to their prisoners.

Snare shifted, the cuff link clanging softly on the floor before it was pulled taut. How did he end up in situations like this? Saved by Autobots a second time, repaired -not enough to be considered brand new, but enough to be functioning- then dragged away to the brig to await trial. A fancy term for execution. No sign of Impactor and the only glimpse of Guzzle had been when the Predator was escorted from the medbay. The minibot was definitely looking better, if still unconscious.

Maybe this was finally the end of the line.

The thought brought only a fraction of relief to the weary Decepticon.

Some sort of bang echoed outside his cell, drawing Snare's attention away from his tethered wrists and pedes. Sounds of a short scuffle followed, then another bang, and a strange length of silence before pedesteps were stomping down toward the Predator's location hastily. No surprise who broke through the metal with a couple, heavy charges.

"Get up," Impactor ordered, shooting the connecting cord between the cuffs, granting mobility -if not freedom- to the flyer again.

Snare grimaced at the scuff mark on the cell floor, where the laser fire had come too close to grazing his patched plating. "And why should I do that?," he demanded. He'd already been "saved" by the harpoonist once before. He didn't really wish to relive the experience.

The Wrecker glared, his mouth twisting in a growl. "You can either get up and follow of your own volition, or I shoot out your knees and carry you out of here over my shoulder," the larger mech threatened, pointing the blaster forward for emphasis. "Your choice."

He didn't even have time to spear the Autobot with his nastiest look. "Fine," Snare hissed, rising to his pedes under Impactor's watchful optic. Seeing that the Decepticon was following, the Wrecker took the lead back down the hall; stepping over the body of a fallen guard just as alarms began to blare overhead.

 **iii.**

The Autobots chased them for a week, in a large cargo spacecraft that had been retrofitted into a sort of mobile commune. Though much larger, well-stocked and weathered for space's unknown troubles, the ship was still slow and cumbersome. In a well-kept exploration shuttle stolen from the freighter, they made great distance, and were soon out of even radar range of their pursuers.

It should have been a joyous occasion.

It was not.

"You're not leaving," Impactor growled, his bulk almost obscuring the door from sight completely.

Snare glared in return, his arms crossed stiffly over his cockpit. As soon as he had registered that they were safe, the Predator had hurried to the shuttle's rear. The purple mech had followed, leaving the now conscious Guzzle in charge of the helm, as he intercepted the jet and shoved him into a room.

"Are you going to lock me up?"

"No."

"Then you can't keep me here," Snare reasoned harshly.

Impactor made a face -like a bullzoid readying an attack- before he unclenched his denta and spoke again. "I saved your life. Twice!," he snarled.

"I was almost dead because of you - _twice_ ," the flyer shot back snidely. Another silent standoff fell into place. The Wrecker could say what he wanted; absolutely nothing would make Snare remain in this pit for another cycle longer.

As if expecting that response, the harpoonist took a step back, nodding his helm with an odd sense of solemnity. "Thought so," he gruffed quietly. Was that a note of defeat Snare heard in the Autobot's tone? "Just so you know, all hatches and doors have been coded. They won't open without authorization now."

Green optics shuttered slowly at the statement, processor taking a long moment to assess the new data and deliver the uncrypted message to its host. As it did, Snare felt his wings sweep upwards in rage; fingers curling into shaking fists as they leapt away from his forearms. "You what?!," the Decepticon seethed.

Impactor said nothing. Of course he wouldn't. The slagging brute just confessed to locking all access ports to the shuttle to keep Snare prisoner. Whole frame trembling with outrage, the Predator shoved past the other mech, storming for the door. He could not abide being in the Autobot's presence one more klik.

As he angrily palmed at the door's lock, he heard Impactor say one last thing: "What monster likened yourself to it?"

Snare practically ran after that.

 **iv.**

Cell R-38: empty.

Cell R-39: empty.

Cell R-40: occupied.

Snare stopped in his stride, turning to the cell in question. The thick, metal door looked the same as any other in the dimly lit hall, with no visible handles in sight, no slots for light -just layer upon layer of impenetrable steel, wired throughout with unseen security forces and only accessible by a specific keycard.

Which the Predator just so happened to have the only copy of.

Glancing down at his datapad, he scrolled through the prison's documented listings, curious to know exactly whom he was about to see. Green optics brightened slightly in surprise. Of all the names he had expected to see in Garrus-9's maximum security roster, the infamous Wrecker Impactor certainly wasn't one of them.

Turning to the cart of energon rations Snare dragged behind him, he took a quick count of how many he had at his disposal; calculations flitting through his helm as the flyer tried to assess the amount necessary to keep the Autobot functioning but not strong. Warrior-types could be such a bother sometimes.

"You down here, Snare?," a vocalizer called out from up the hall.

The Predator looked up, his lip components pursing slightly behind his mask. "Stalker," he greeted shortly. "Why are you here?"

His fellow Predator strode forward through the shadows, blaster slung over his shoulder and visor bright with some unknown excitement. "I thought I'd come collect you for some fun. Overlord's called for another hunt," the communications specialist answered.

So that explained why the ground-pounder was in such a chipper mood.

"Pass," Snare replied coolly, turning back to his datapad.

" _Pass?_ " Stalker paused, a hint of anger in his vocalizer. "You've done nothing but lock yourself away almost every cycle since we took this dump. What's wrong with you? You getting soft or something?"

The smaller Predator didn't need to look to know that the blaster was now pointed at him. Stalker could be so brash sometimes. "For your information," he vented in annoyance, still not looking up from the prison's notes, "It is part of my responsibilities to oversee the state of the remaining prisoners. Or would you like to explain to Overlord why all of his 'prey' is no longer functioning?"

It was quiet for a moment, before there was a curse and a shuffle; Stalker shouldering the gun once more as he kicked at the ration cart. Snare glared at the other Decepticon as the cubes clanked together momentarily. "Fine. Whatever. Be boring then," the communications specialist grumbled. "Overlord would probably use me as the next target anyways if I killed his 'favourite'."

Being called anyone's favourite -especially that monster's- was not a comfort to the jet.

"I'm leaving," Stalker blessedly continued, distracting Snare from his thoughts, even if temporarily. The Predator watched as his fellow 'con turned away, marching down the hall back to the lift to the upper levels. "Just make sure you're at the arena match next quartex. Overlord's orders."

The flyer grit his denta irritably, wings hitching up as his emotions got the better of him for a moment. "Don't you worry about me," he called out. "Sorry you've been reduced to a messenger drone, Stalker."

The ground-pounder made a rude gesture in return. Rolling his optical sensors at the petty reaction, Snare turned back to the cell door, withdrawing Fortress Maximus' keycard and swiping at the access pad before he could think about whom he was about to face.

He hated this all.

 **v.**

Impactor didn't grasp the concept of personal space.

"We need to talk."

Then again, Snare had expected this confrontation a lot sooner. "What?," the jet vented softly from his seat. He refused to turn and face the Wrecker whom had just barged into his room, anticipating this to be a conversation of low-handed insults and awkward questions.

"Would you look at me?," the harpoonist snarled testily.

"No. My hearing is just as good whether I'm looking at you or not."

"Fine," Impactor replied, the sound of something being kicked over as the Autobot marched up behind the Predator. Snare grit his denta in annoyance. "You've been slacking off on your duties, Snare. I believe the requirements were that you followed orders if you wished to cement your position here."

"A verbal contract that you deemed null the moment you pass-coded the doors," the smaller mech rebutted sharply.

He could hear the Wrecker's gears grinding just beyond his wings. The moron's face was probably twisted in that ugly sneer too, the one he always donned when he didn't get his way. "Do you have a death wish or something? Is that why you want to be offlined so bad?!"

Snare's fists curled tighter around the datapad he held, almost threatening to crack the frame. Why did the Autobot always have to make such unprecedented assumptions for? It was beyond irritating hearing Impactor spout his unfounded opinions, but even more aggravating because they were always wrong. Did the Predator wish to die? Truthfully, no. He was afraid of having his spark extinguished, but... But he was also so weary of all of this: the fear, the anger, the lack of control.

What point was there in functioning when the future held no prospects for the jaded Decepticon?

"Is there some sort of point you're trying to make, or did you come merely to give me a processor ache?," the jet replied, tossing the datapad to the side.

Impactor grabbed the back of Snare's chair, spinning the smaller mech around to face him. As expected, the Wrecker's lip components were pressed into a thin line, optics narrowed with ire. "I don't get you," he eventually started, leaning in closer. "You were awfully slagging chatty back on G-9, now I can barely get a word out of you, let alone a straight-forward answer! Why, Snare? Other than fear, what other reason could you possibly have to open up to your imprisoned foe for?"

The Predator flinched. The purple warrior's questions had struck something deep within him, but for all the protests that came to mind, not a single one made its way to his glossa. What was there to say? He'd set Impactor free, told him... What? The truth? Lies? Where had his words come from that orn and why had he so foolishly put his trust in the rogue Autobot?

Impactor stared for several kliks longer before cursing under his intakes and taking a step back. He ignored the puzzled jet's inquisitive look-over, rubbing at his optics in aggravation. "Very well. I'll be the honest one now," the larger mech grumbled. He paused, cycling an intake, fixing Snare with a stern optic. "So maybe I want you around for more than your skills. Slagging right I like the look of ya. You 'cons have an issue with an equally beneficial partnership?"

The Wrecker crossed his arms stubbornly, waiting for a rebuke. The Decepticon though did not have the energy for another bout. "...You know nothing about me," Snare softly said, noticing the stunned expression Impactor donned as the jet turned away. "You're just wasting your time."

"Tell me then," the other mech demanded from behind.

"Goodbye," the Predator replied.

For a moment, there was only silence as neither mech moved. Then... "We're not finished here," Impactor declared, his pedes scuffing the floor as he turned and stomped out of the room.

 _'No,'_ Snare thought in exhaustion, hearing the door finally slide close following the Autobot's exit, _'I suppose not.'_

 **vi.**

His de-frag cycle was a torturous process of fragmented memories and half-recalled sensations.

Dark hallways laid out in uniform fashion, laden with dark rectangles; power-downed cells that were ripped of their inhabitants long before. He marched through these corridors alone, his pedesteps echoing loudly across the walls, always searching for a living soul among the frightful sounds.

 _Snare?_

He turned at the call of his designation, unaware as the dingy grey walls surrounding him melted into a world too vivid and too white. On his back now, he stared up at a purple-crested helm and a pair of blue optics that looked down at him with a mask of fear.

 _Snare?_

 _What aren't you telling me?_

An energon-soaked servo grappled for one of his own, lying stiff on the slab to his side. There was a thought to move, to possibly reach back in response, but the jet was incapable of such action. "I... I don't know," he mumbled back softly. It didn't even feel like his lip components parted.

 _There's **something**. What were you trying to escape on Garrus-9?_

A different face overlaid the one he was looking at currently. Less blocky, more confident; a large, cruel smile highlighted under bloody orbs. "Him." The words escaped in a rapid hush, causing his spark to flutter with a shiver of terror. "I had to get away from him."

 _Him? ….Overlord, you mean?_

"Yes," the jet muttered. He felt so terribly exhausted suddenly.

 _Why?_

Fingers were gripping at his servo again. Onlining his optics suddenly, he stared dimly at the change of face once more, marginally relieved it no longer belonged to the psychopath. "He... 'favoured' me," he explained slowly, prompted by the intense optics gazing down on him. "I was amusing, when he began to get bored with the games he'd started on Garrus-9. He knew the one thing I never talked about... and he enjoyed tormenting me with that fact."

 _Elaborate._

He shook his helm weakly.

 _ **Snare.**_

"No," he protested. "I'm not faulty. I don't... I don't need reprogramming. He understood that." It was painful admitting that. Made him cringe in woeful acknowledgment as the words escaped. "I didn't ever want that creature's 'empathy'."

A strange length of silence stretched for the duration of this recharge-like limbo.

 _...What did he do?_

"Nothing," he sighed. Overlord's greatest weapon wasn't what he could physically do to him, it was the promise of the torment he could entice his kin into projecting onto the lone jet. The presence pressed closer and he shrunk away from the contact, discomfort squirming across his sensor grid. "Stop. Please. I dislike it."

 _Later. Later, I want you to tell me more. No more excuses. No more lies._

"It'll change nothing," he replied, weariness more notable in his tone. The watcher remained quiet, and, drained, the jet finally let his optics offline again for good. His frazzled processor cooling down as it set to healing the last of his damaged archives.

 **C.M.D: Impactor just can't and Snare doesn't want to. What a pair of idiots :D**  
 **Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	5. Chapter 5

**C.M.D: It's been a while, once more, since I've written anything and despite finding my track, I'm still having a hard time getting going again. I hope you, my dear readers, enjoy what I've managed to put together in the meantime. P.S: I still have not read any of the comic lines in months, so I have no idea what's been happening with Impactor canonically.**

 **i.**

Have you ever been alone?

Snare had.

From the beginning, all the way to his joining the Decepticons, he had always been alone. Solitude was commonplace, and among an army primarily looking out for number one (themselves), a necessity. Other than boredom from time to time, it had never been a burden. In fact, it had been a lovely reprieve when the Predator tired of his comrades' pointless antics.

Being alone was not the same as feeling alone though.

Self-made isolation had never felt like a prison, and despite the two mechs occupying the ship alongside him, this feeling of cold realization -that he had nowhere to go and no one to turn to- was a new experience for Snare. It clawed at his spark with frigid talons, when he bothered to acknowledge its presence; bringing tears of frustration and weary resignation to the flyer's optics as he was drawn further into its fathomless cage.

One 'bot by himself was fine.

A spark trapped in a box, incapable of anything, was deplorable.

Snare wished he never knew this feeling.

 **ii.**

The Predator woke to find himself alone on the ship. It had taken a few kliks of mindless wandering and convincing himself that he wasn't still trapped in some fractured de-frag session, before Snare noticed the message left open on a console screen. So the Autobots had left for another job...?

He didn't know how to feel about that. A part of him rationalized that he should make use of this opportunity, escape, but the whole of him couldn't care less. He'd already deduced that he had no life outside of this ship. In a somber mood, Snare decided to do one thing with his unexpected freedom: he stole into the galley and helped himself to a third of Impactor's stash. It was poor slag -engex horribly refined enough to be just ingestible, with a hint of flavor akin to rust- yet it warmed the Predator's tanks even as he forced back every glass, painting a rainbowy shimmer over the dull world around him.

Snare was just beginning to admire the way the fluorescence flared from the galley's pot lights, when his proximity alerted him belatedly that he wasn't alone. Turning his helm lazily, the Decepticon watched as Impactor and Guzzle shared a few, hissed words; the purple mech shooing the minibot on to his quarters with a wave of his servo. Guzzle complied, though his optics darkened with some unspoken offense.

It was such a sight, Snare giggled softly. Face creased curiously, Impactor made his way to the flyer, taking the empty seat across from the smaller mech.

"Funny seeing you out and about," he said. "That taste good?"

At the Wrecker's vocalizer, Snare immediately sobered some; the giddy rush of the engex dissipating as annoyance festered in his over-full tanks. "No," Snare replied, optics narrowing with ire.

"I see you helped yourself to quite a bit." Impactor pointedly looked at the nearly empty container that had once stored the engex. In spite, the flyer finished another glass.

"I didn't take you for the concerned type."

"And I didn't take you for a drunk."

The response, coming from Impactor of all things, was so unexpected that the smaller mech found himself lagging as his laden processor attempted to make sense of what had just transpired. Pushing aside his empty cup, Snare leaned back in his seat, watching the Wrecker with tired optics. "Get to your point, Autobot."

Amazingly, the harpoonist only frowned sourly at the reply. "I told you, I'm not an Autobot," he gruffed. "I'm a Wrecker." The Predator's gaze said that he didn't really care. Jaw grinding for a moment, Impactor visibly slouched in his chair as he vented heavily, unlatching his guns from his back and setting them to the side. "I just want to talk," he continued calmly, setting servo and hook on the table top.

"You seem to want to do that a lot," Snare rebutted, chin settling in his palm as he leaned forward with disinterest. "Let's just skip this, okay? How about a trade?"

The Wrecker looked as if he was going to protest, but the Decepticon's lure had sunk deep and his optics flared a tad brighter as he inched closer. "What trade?"

The flyer reached across the table with his free servo, one finger stroking the edge of the stained harpoon. "Hand over your weapons to me and I'll share your berth," he answered bluntly.

Impactor's reaction was instantaneous. " _Excuse me?!_ ," he growled, ripping his harpoon back as his shoulders bunched defensively around his helm. The prongs bit across the galley table, gouging deep lines with a nasty shriek; the rapid bounce cutting a shallow line into Snare's index finger at the same time.

"Calm down," the smaller mech sighed, rubbing the curl of metal free from the rest of his plating, "I'm not going to confiscate them completely, I'm just asking to be in charge of docking and locking them away while not in use. History indicates that it would be safer overall."

"I'm not a threat to you!," Impactor snarled. His frame was tensed for battle, but his gaze was locked onto the small injury on the flyer's finger.

"You put a harpoon through my chestplates during a fit," Snare replied blandly, lifting his finger higher into the Autobot's sight lines to accentuate his point. "I'm not asking much. Just allow me to store them while on board. Do you have any valid reason that you should be armed at all times, even in the confined spaces of this ship?"

The purple mech looked as if he was going to argue further, but instead his mouth closed slowly; his frame easing, with every agonizing astrosecond, into a more relaxed pose in the chair once more. "...I'll think about your offer," he eventually said, vocalizer soft with abstract emotion. Then he rose to his pedes and wandered out of the galley to his own quarters.

Snare, alone and exhausted suddenly, only grabbed the rest of the engex and refilled his glass.

 **iii.**

Impactor's response came a week later.

"Snare. Bridge," the ship comm crackled, the Wrecker's gruff vocalizer cycling through the tinny speaker.

It was late. The Predator had been active for more than twenty cycles and he'd been in the middle of preparing for a short recharge when the summons sounded. Slightly curious, he tidied away the rest of his possessions, heading up from the ship's hold where the quarters were placed to the main deck above.

Snare felt his circuits crackle uncertainly when he noticed that Impactor was alone; the Autobot turned away from the helm and watching the door patiently. "About time," the purple mech commented from his seat.

The flyer did not respond.

"I thought it over," Impactor continued, Snare immediately catching onto his unspoken reference. The harpoonist grabbed a keycard off the chair's arm, tossing it towards the Predator like a frisbee. "Here."

Despite the suddenness of it, the smaller mech caught the keycard, almost missing the finger that pointed to the far right of the bridge. At the silent direction, Snare turned, swiping the card through a security panel covering a set of built-in medium doors. It prompted for a passcode to be set, which, after a suspicious glance over a wing, the Predator created one on the spot. As soon as the pad had noted the changes, the doors slid apart, revealing a sunken depository, stocked from top to bottom with weaponry.

One in particular stood out to the stunned mech's optics: a barbed harpoon, easily as long as his forearm.

Turning his helm, Snare stared at Impactor, only noticing then that the Wrecker had a servo on both wrists. The Autobot's expression remained calm and withdrawn. "It's the only card, and now, only you know the passcode. My end of the bargain," he spoke up after a klik.

He had actually accepted his terms... The Predator could feel nothing as he saw the purple mech pat a knee expectantly; glad that his mask hid the majority of his expression from Impactor's prying optics. Disbelief was strong within him. But that was stupid. Why would he think the Wrecker wouldn't accept his offer?

A shiver of displeasure ran down his neural net, one that Snare was glad he could hide very well, even as he slid stiffly into Impactor's lap. The harpoonist only rested a large servo on the flyer's waist though, thumb snug in a dip between plating, turning the chair (with both of them still in it) back towards the ship's console.

Ignored for the most part as Impactor kept diligent watch over the spacecraft's instruments; the warm servo a heavy weight on the Predator's frame.

 **iv.**

Fingers scrabbled across pocked plating, catching in the dips made from stellar cycles of battle and wear, creating little lines in the colours. The Autobot didn't seem to mind; he pressed closer, denta and lip components circled tight around neck cables, mouthing them with ferocity but refraining from piercing the cords.

He still winced.

Growling lustfully, Impactor shifted the Predator more comfortably against the table, grinding down hard. One servo was gripping tighter on his wing, the second moving down between them clumsily until Snare heard the click of retracting panels. It was hard to swallow back his sigh, even as he commanded his own codpiece to slide back at the Wrecker's heavy petting.

He had expected this though it had certainly taken longer to come about than he had anticipated. Light touches and mild gropes apparently sated Impactor for quite a while.

Internals were slowly warming, lubricant pooling as the Wrecker continued to roughly manhandle the frame beneath him. Snare kept himself as limp as possible, allowing the Autobot to guide his motions as he willed, surprised the other mech didn't just spike him immediately after pulling him into the medbay. Impactor obviously had a little more patience than others.

A soft grunt escaped the Predator as Impactor suddenly lunged forward, adjusting his legs so they'd be less of an obstacle. A lick up his neck and audio showed that the harpoonist approved. Snare made a face behind his mask, turning his helm to the side as the Autobot went back to nibbling on his neck, venting heavily on the cables as he rocked quickly above the flyer.

Gripping harder so he wouldn't slide about as much, the Decepticon focused on a counter across the room from them, fighting down the roiling in his tanks as protruding chestplates scraped painfully along his cockpit glass. The least the Wrecker could have done was wash the energon from his frame beforehand.

 **v.**

Another outing, another orn of routine tasks and (thankfully) no killing. It was a small joy to the Predator.

Shifting the weight of the last shotgun, Snare made his way to the bridge, balancing the weapon precariously through the narrow hall as he pulled a keycard from subspace. Though it hadn't been included in the bargain and wasn't demanded of him, the Decepticon liked to take the time in between the long, dull orns to make sure Impactor's weapons were clean, well-lubed and functioning at max efficiency.

A beat-in trait that any good soldier had adopted after stellar cycles at war.

He'd just finished with the last of them and was now returning the weapons, one by one, back to the depository in the ship's helm. A private comm informed him that Impactor was waiting for him in his quarters once he was done. Snare vented heavily as he entered the bridge.

Swiping the keycard and tapping in the passcode, the Predator made quick work of securing the last batch of weapons away; ensuring they were snapped into their respective sections, safe and disarmed before closing the doors and hiding them from sight once more. So engrossed was he in his task that the mech didn't register the grunt from behind him, until a large muzzle was shoved tightly against his side as he turned about.

"Wha-?!"

Guzzle's optics were bright with mad intensity, staring down the flyer with a look that spoke volumes of his disgust. The barrel of his handgun warmed as it was pushed even closer to Snare's plating, almost digging between seams, as it angled up for a clear shot to his spark. One pull of the trigger, he knew, would be enough to blow a sizeable hole in his torso and snuff out the glowing life-orb.

This awareness filled Snare with a chilling sense of terror.

"I ever catch you touching The Judge," the minibot snarled lowly, "You won't even register the satisfaction before I rip that greasy brain module through your whore mouth."

The Decepticon didn't even nod, wary that a single motion would set the Autobot off. Yet Guzzle only watched him for a long klik, grunting contemptuously, before pulling back and holding his gun away harmlessly. Or what would seem harmless if Snare hadn't just been threatened by the squat mech.

"Get on with you then. The bridge is mine to watch and you have 'work' to tend to," the minibot continued, gesturing to the door with The Judge.

Snare glared but there was no feeling behind it. His neural net was alive with fear at the moment and there was no room for anything else to register. Heading through the doorway quickly, the flyer worried to himself in silent dread. So much had happened with Impactor since the beginning of this wayward journey, yet... How could he have missed what a danger Guzzle posed as well?

 **iv.**

"Take the mask off."

The request came in the middle of a bounce; the Wrecker grunting as Snare fully seated himself once more, fingers on his waist tightening as their plating pressed together seamlessly.

"What?"

It was an odd command, nor one the Predator took kindly to. Impactor did not seem interested in continuing until he had his way though. "Your mask," he scowled, elaborating, "I want it gone. You're too quiet. The least you can do is let me see that you're enjoying yourself."

Always about the physical. Snare frowned deeply himself, shifting his weight a little as the immobile spike began to press uncomfortably inside him. "What does it matter? I'm already 'facing you," the smaller mech pointed out flatly. "There's not much to see when you're thrusting up anyhow."

Now it was the Wrecker's turn to shift. One servo fell away from the flyer's waist, allowing Impactor to brace himself up on his elbows, further misaligning the way the two of them laid. This time, Snare winced.

"That's not the slagging point and you know it. I didn't force you into this, so you can fragging let me know if it's doing you any good!," Impactor snarled, energy field snapping with building rage.

A reasonable opinion, especially for an Autobot... yet, it was wrong. Or, at least, the purple mech was. Everything he'd done -rescuing the Decepticon, putting him on his ship- all those little, forgettable choices were what had driven Snare to this point and despite what Impactor thought, he really didn't want this.

"Well?!," the Wrecker snapped, growing impatient with the lengthy silence. What was there to say though? None of the answers he could give would make the other mech happy. One moment he was staring down into dark yellow optics, the next, Snare found himself tumbling to the floor; Impactor sitting up on the berth completely. "Get out!"

"Why?," the Predator barked back, pushing himself up slowly. The fall had dented a wingtip and it flared excruciatingly across his neural net. "Is sound that important to you? Fine. You can have this however you want, you just need to say it, not throw a fit like a new spark!"

There was a moment of stunned silence before the Autobot lunged forward, yanking Snare to his pedes by a tight fist around his throat. "What the slag is wrong with you?! You approached me first!," Impactor bellowed, shaking the flyer violently.

Writhing, it took an astrosecond for the smaller mech to reach up, digging his fingers into the other's fist and breaking the hold; stumbling back with a hateful hiss. "I did only what you wanted from me but were too cowardly to say. Pulling back covers, grunting like organics -it's disgusting how much you live by your interface array! I told you none of it meant anything to me yet you kept pushing. If there's anything fundamentally wrong with any 'bot here, it's you and the rest of fragging Cybertron. Not me!"

The Wrecker raised his other fist, clearly intending to pound Snare into a sparking pile of scrap. But he miraculously managed to restrain himself; gears grinding audibly and vents puffing out steam as his face contorted with rage. "Get out!," he repeated loudly. "Get the frag out of my quarters, you freak!"

Snare's wings trembled rapidly at the derogatory, wishing that he could hurt the Autobot. Instead, the Predator spun on his heel and stormed from the room in a whirr of heated turbines and righteous loathing.

This was the last time he'd let any 'bot reign over him.


	6. Chapter 6

**C.M.D: Another one...**

 **i.**

They were gone again.

Barely half an orn had passed by his chronometer's telling since Impactor had sent him away, before there was the faint sound of activity in the ship's cavity above. Isolated within his quarters, Snare quietly took note of the far-away sounding alarm -the cautionary signal that the docking doors were opening into the vacuum of space. Then, after a couple kliks, all was silent once more.

Starting his recharge protocols, the Predator laid himself out on his berth, staring towards the door while his optics dimmed. It was unlikely another job had arrived so soon to sate Impactor's restless anger, which only meant that the purple mech had disembarked with Guzzle to busy themselves in other ways.

How typical.

Autobots were such emotionally triggered individuals, Snare noted, slipping into an unsatisfying de-frag cycle.

 **ii.**

The lying, arrogant...!

Stumbling into his room, the jet forced his servos to hold steady as he quickly punched in a series of passcodes; the door to his quarters sliding close and sealing itself with a beep of confirmation. The sound was not appreciated though as the Decepticon finally succumbed to his frazzled sensors, dropping to his aft right where he stood, his legs no longer capable of keeping him upright.

How foolish was he to trust that slagging Autobot!?

Snare wanted to curse himself but he could barely think through the terror filling his energon lines. Disembarking for pointless sprees of violence, blatantly seeking out Guzzle when his systems ran too hot -those were all things that had increased in number as the orns had passed and could be easily overlooked by the jet. But this...?

The Predator shook anew, beating back one frightful thought after another as he continued to stare at the closed door. He should have known that this whole trade was a charade. After all, what sane 'bot would submit their entire fire force to a centuries-old enemy? And Impactor was certainly not sane by any measure. Yet... Snare fought down the rising urge to purge his tanks. The sight of the Wrecker -rifling through the weapons depository, all while splashed with fresh energon and proudly bearing his deadly harpoon as he moved about the ship- it struck something within the Decepticon, leaving him rushing for some semblance of safety.

In his panicked haze, the mech wondered how safe he truly could be. If the Wrecker had means of accessing his gear, without need of Snare's keycard or passcode, surely a flimsy door would not keep the harpoonist at bay should he come searching for the jet.

A bitter laugh escaping frozen lip components, the Predator slowly curled forward into his knee joints; plagued by a weakness in his limbs not entirely the cause of the fear possessing him currently.

 **iii.**

"I don't usually service... customers... such as yourself."

Snare rested on his back, staring up at the pocked ceiling; a mish-mash of welded metal from various sources, laid one over the other and rusting in between the seams. "I'm aware," he answered dully. It didn't seem wise to mention that the trade they'd settled on had been less than favourable to the Decepticon -all at the other's insistence.

The femme skimmed over her set of tools laid out on the table beside the resting flyer, perusing the selection of grinding discs available. "I'd offer to put you in stasis for the procedure, but-"

"I rather be conscious," the Predator interrupted, noting the neutral's displeased expression from his peripheral. He supposed he should have been thankful that the femme did not react on her feelings, considering she now possessed quite an arsenal to mete out a painful punishment to her patient. Yet when one took into account how he'd escaped the Wreckers' ship only a short while ago, Snare was not too concerned about a lone neutral's opinions.

He would face far worse should Impactor catch him now...

"Well?," Snare pressed, when the femme had yet to move.

Shrugging, the neutral picked up a vial of toxic-looking fluid, breaking the sealed cap with one snap of her wrist. Immediately, a tank-roiling odour escaped the bottle. "This will hurt," she replied, a hint of amusement to her tone, "But then again, I'm sure you knew that."

The Decepticon could only glare as she poured the viscous liquid over the paneling of his wing; a slow, circuit-crawling heat starting where it touched and rapidly increasing in intensity as the femme turned to her counter of tools. She returned with a heavy-looking saw held surely in her two servos, powering it on with routine disinterest and lowering it towards her patient.

Laid out on the medical slab below, Snare screamed.

 **iv.**

For once, it seemed as if things might actually be improving for Snare.

Wings aching and useless, for a while the jet had left himself in a static position. The moment he was capable to walk again though, he bartered the last of the weapons he'd pilfered from Impactor's cache and caught a small trade vessel off of the neutral-owned asteroid community he'd first fled to. It carried him past several planetary bodies, dropping the Predator off on a busy moon base, where a collection of 'bots and a couple species of alien life had set up a refinery town together. A fairly decent place for a disloyal 'con to disappear.

And hopefully never be found by a certain Autobot again.

 **v.**

The first wrenching screech of metal had Snare snapping from recharge hazardously, Predator sensors screaming out in warning at approaching danger. Circuits flaring sorely, the jet looked about his tiny quarters groggily, finding himself alone as per usual. Nothing pinged off of his radar either, and he was just about to put the read-out aside as a result of a poor de-frag when a violent clamor could be heard echoing not too far away from his unit. The threat was real... and it had yet to reach him. Rolling off the berth in a hurry, Snare threw open his quarter's door, running down the co-op's narrow hall opposite of the ruckus that had roused him.

It seemed his unknown assailant was closer than he'd anticipated, for gunfire opened up in the empty corridor, peppering the sheet metal walls with fist-sized holes and sending the floor's other inhabitants into a panicked frenzy as they peeked outside their units curiously. Ducking another rain of bullets, and elbowing past the mob that now swarmed out into the hall irritably, Snare hurried to get to the lift at the end of the corridor when a poor idiot took a shell to the helm and toppled bodily into the ramshackle elevator, collapsing it entirely.

Cursing uncharacteristically, the Predator twisted suddenly on a heel, shoving himself into an abandoned unit as the crowd grew more violent in their terror. For just a moment, the mech thought he'd run himself into a corner -so much so that it took too many precious astroseconds for his processor to notice through the blinding fear the tiny, makeshift window fixture that this specific room bore. Lunging forward instantly, Snare tore at the surrounding wall, hoping that the shoddy co-op's construction would be his ticket to freedom.

Energon lines thrumming hotly, the jet almost gave a joyous cry as the window's frame cracked; part of the flimsy wall tearing and buckling inwards. But it wasn't enough: the gap made would barely fit his frame, nevermind his wings. Servos scrambling for the other corner of the window, Snare readied to pull once more. He barely registered the sound of a rifle cocking behind him before something pierced his spinal struts suddenly, enveloping the flyer in a web of shrieking electricity.

Only pain and darkness followed.

 **vi.**

This was all too familiar an experience...

Onlining slowly, HDU plagued by a thousand unheeded warnings and system updates, Snare found himself lying on his backstruts, staring up at an unmarked ceiling aglow from a sparking light fixture. Trying to trace his memory archives for how he ended up here, the Predator found his efforts halted as all of a sudden every agony imaginable lit up his neural net with the intensity of a hundred, deadly lightning storms. Rolling over violently, Snare barely had astroseconds to rip his mask free from his face before his tanks rolled upwards, spewing hot energon past trembling lip components.

Vents puffing quickly in shock, the mech slowly pushed himself upright, the entire room still reeling. What had happened? Where was he? All he remembered was running and...

A lock pinged as it released, a hiss sounding loudly as a door slid open. Panic registering faintly amidst the confusion and pain, Snare turned his helm toward the noise, finding himself looking up at hulking figure of Impactor. "Y-you-"

He'd barely managed a single word before the Wrecker had closed the distance between them, his massive servo lashing out and slapping across an exposed cheekplate. The Predator was sent tumbling with the attack, his wings smacking at awkward angles and making everything ache a million times worse. Processor shaken and tanks attempting to empty their contents once more without success, Snare struggled to get his limbs to move, desperate to get away from the violent mech. They would not obey his commands and Impactor was upon him again before he had a chance to formulate a plea.

Grabbing the smaller mech's shoulder, the Wrecker began to lift Snare from the floor but changed direction half-way through and slammed the injured flyer back to the ground hard. Snare's vocalizer chirped brokenly in pain, sure he'd heard something snap with the action yet unable to track where as his HDU lit with a hundred more emergency notices.

"Think you're real smart, do you?," he could hear Impactor hiss. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't find you?"

Fingers grabbed his helm, clutching too tight, raising his face forward as the Autobot straddled his fallen frame. For a moment, his lip components hopelessly tried to form words but surrendered immediately when the larger mech shook him roughly.

"Is this some sort of game to you? Do you enjoy angering me?!," the Wrecker bellowed this time.

No way to move; nowhere to flee. Snare swallowed back the swell of desolation that arose, offlining his optics to shield himself from his assailant. He couldn't see much with the scattered pixels anyhow... The action was obviously the wrong one to make for Impactor shifted suddenly, snarling in rage as he made to attack the Decepticon again. Whatever he was doing, the jet was not aware of. All he felt was the edge of something knocking lightly about the center of his wing and Snare erupted into a shrieking scream; writhing frame bucking forward in a desperate attempt to escape.

It felt like an eternity, consumed in a fiery bubble of excruciating torment, before the torment dulled to a crippling agony and then the agony to a whimpering pain just shy of bearable. As reality eased itself back into place, Snare became vaguely aware that he was sobbing unabashedly, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care.

 _Just make it stop..._

There was a shuffle, the room getting colder for a moment and then something grabbing the Predator's arm and carelessly rolling him over onto his front. Optics flaring to life, the jet tried to make sense of the sea of colours and black holes, finally piecing together an image of Impactor quietly standing over the smaller mech from high up. At this angle, he could not make any clear sense of the Wrecker's expression.

And then, it didn't matter, for the purple mech turned and exited the room as suddenly as when he had arrived.

Trembling still from his suffering systems, Snare just laid where he'd been left, quietly wishing that the Autobot had killed him.

 **vii.**

His chronometer was broken again. The Predator laid on his front, arms cradled on either side of his cockpit as comfortably as the stasis cuffs would allow and helm resting against the cold floor. The position was certainly not a dignifying one, but it was the best one that allowed his wings full freedom. And after everything that they had been through, his wings were the part of him that most needed healing and comfort. Which brought Snare back to his original train of thought... He was aware that without a trained medic, his operation back on the trading port would have taken up to a few meta-cycles before his wings fully healed on their own -now though, it seemed likely it would be vorns for the accumulation of damage to heal entirely. If it did at all...

The realization that he may never fly again -to a natural-born flyer- could render a mech shattered from within. Alas, Snare had a much more pressing despondency to focus on at the moment.

Impactor had found him. The damnable Wrecker had tracked, tasered and brought the Decepticon back to his ship; once again trapping Snare in this miserable place and treating him like a low-life criminal. And the worse part of all this was not knowing exactly how long he'd been imprisoned here.

The sound of the lock pinged for the first time in what may have been orns, granting entrance to the very mech the jet was thinking of. As per usual, Snare refused to move -he could not fight back and otherwise, the harpoonist had made it clear that he would move the Predator himself if he so wished it. It seemed like today Impactor had such thoughts in mind. Crossing the room in short, hard strides, the Wrecker grabbed his captive by the back of his neck; lifting him up and haphazardly seating him upright, before grabbing his exposed face roughly, a cube of energon almost cutting into Snare's mouth.

Held like he was, he didn't bother struggling; a sensation akin to drowning rising as he awkwardly swallowed down the luminescent liquid. "Talk," Impactor demanded, removing the cube when Snare began to splutter.

Coughing, the Predator weighed the cons of him refusing the larger mech as his intakes began to even out again. Parts of him believed it would be easier to just give the Autobot what he wanted. A bigger, darker part of him just wanted to die.

Engine turning over angrily, Impactor rose to his pedes, pacing before the jet. "Now you're giving me the silent treatment? It doesn't take a genius to see that you obviously sold my guns and that you've abandoned your faction mark," the harpoonist remarked lowly, "So what about your wings, hm? What did you do to frag your neural net to slag?"

"...you shot a taser-round into my spinal struts," Snare replied after a lengthy moment, his tone all levels of accusatory.

With his optics lowered to the ground, the Decepticon only saw the Wrecker's pedes as he came to an abrupt halt; spinning and facing his captive directly. "Oh, you're going to whine about that? That was a harmless, little jolt -it would take a dozen of those to damage you the way you are now. Where's the credits from trading my weapons?"

"I don't have any," the Predator answered softly. A snort came from the purple mech. "I really don't."

"Liar," the other spat.

His helm snapped upwards immediately at the insult, servos curling in his lap with his growing ire. "It's the truth! I bartered the bulk of those slagging guns so I could have this Unicron-cursed brand scrapped from my frame," Snare informed snappily. "The rest bought me a ride to that moon base you found me on."

It had been a long time since the jet had actually seen the Autobot's face. Even so, Impactor's expression had hardly changed: a pair of cold, yellow optics thinned into slits, set above a mouth twisted into a frown, hiding a rage burning brightly out of sight. "Brand?," came the Wrecker's flat response.

The Predator shook his helm shortly, scoffing under an intake. "Autobots... You didn't get a pretty, new paintjob for joining the Decepticons," he muttered, feeling a laugh threaten to bubble upwards. He wondered why he even paused to put a stop to it. "No. Megatron preferred a more enduring fashion on his soldiers..."

It was quiet following his words.

"So you decided ripping your plating apart was the right solution?," Impactor asked, a growl slipping into his vocalizer.

Snare's optics had dropped back down to the harpoonist's pedes sometimes during his last confession. Too weary to lift his helm again and disinterested in beginning another round of hate-filled banter, the jet just sighed. "The Senate, Megatron, Tarn... Overlord... I've lived too long under one tyrant after another. I thought I'd take care of two problems at once and put an end to it all finally."

This time, the silence was deafening enough to physically hurt. Yet Impactor made no move to break it. Tension building, the Wrecker suddenly turned and stormed from the room; ripping the door from its track entirely when it did not open fast enough for him. Vaguely perplexed, Snare watched as the purple mech's figure vanished down the hall, before sliding down onto his cockpit again and staring vacantly at nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**C.M.D: And that is the last one for this month.**

 **i.**

"You're a waste of good energon," the Wrecker grunted, withdrawing the cube as the Predator began to choke.

Intakes cycling painfully, Snare peered at Impactor critically, feeling a thin line of energon escape from the corner of his slacken mouth. "You may as well kill me then, if I'm such a bother," he retorted.

Yellow optics narrowed in return; the servo clutching the back of the Decepticon's helm tightening dangerously. "Unfortunately if I do that, I can't hold you accountable to your crimes," the harpoonist sneered. "And how else would you repay me for the hole you blew in my ship and the stolen weapons?"

"Oh, is that what you're whining about?," Snare replied, echoing the Autobot's words from his last visit. It seemed a poetically amusing choice of phrase.

Impactor didn't not see the humor in it though. Sneer dropping, the mech yanked the jet closer, their faces almost touching as he snarled at the smaller 'bot. "I should just rip your fragging wings off. See how far you get then."

"G-go ahead," the Predator frowned back, wincing as the Wrecker squeezed harder, "No thanks to you, they're as good as scrap metal anyhow. I'm grounded. For life. Happy now?"

The purple mech's response was to throw Snare back to the floor, the rest of the energon splashing across the Decepticon's face. Spluttering in surprise, Snare didn't see as Impactor left the room; only heard as the Autobot stomped away. Optics refocusing, the Predator stared at the empty doorway, venting wearily.

Denied once again...

 **ii.**

It seemed to take ages for him to acknowledge the set of pedes standing next to his helm.

"Starving ourselves, are we?," came the usual grumble.

Snare didn't reply. Or, more accurately, couldn't. He just didn't have the energy to initiate his vocalizer. Stupid brute... The energon he provided was not enough in the sporadic bursts Impactor liked to deliver it, especially not when the jet's self-repair units were desperately trying to stabilize his systems. All to no avail, really.

There was the sound of crunching metal and the Predator could vaguely note that the Wrecker had taken to one knee beside him. "Don't think you're getting off that easy," the other mech said lowly, "You'll live -I'll see to it."

He wasn't too surprised by that promise. Shuttering his optics for a moment, Snare onlined them to find that he was alone once more. Impactor was gone. Had he really been here? Or had the damage finally extended to his processor as well...?

With no way of knowing, the Predator opted to shut down into recharge instead, slipping into comfortable blackness.

 **iii.**

Warm servos were moving him. Awoken by the rippling waves of agony with every touch, the Decepticon onlined his optics, viewing the world in kaleidoscopic chaos before his visual pixels stabled some and he could make sense of the world immediately in front of him. A strange face greeted him, optics in a shade of uncommon gold.

"Stay calm," the stranger spoke softly. "I know this hurts, but I must get you up to the berth if I'm to operate. I'll give you something to numb the pain afterwards, and when you awake again, your wings will be functional once more. I promise."

Hefty words from an unknown mouth. He knew he should have felt some kind of fear, as his frame was continuously manhandled, but Snare had long since dismissed the feeling. Under his keep, Impactor had already made it clear that there was no place for such an emotion. What the Wrecker wished, he did, and the jet was powerless to stop him either way.

Settled awkwardly on a berth, Snare turned his damaged optics to his newest medic, watching as the stranger fiddled with a long tube in their servos -a syringe, the Decepticon surmised distantly. "Here," the other 'bot whispered, servos disappearing out of sight as they leaned in slowly.

There was a tiny prick somewhere around his collar struts, the sensation of the needle's entry almost overwhelmed by every other pain. It mattered not though once a chilling warmth began to spread, smothering all of his senses and bringing a twisted kind of peace to the jet. Calmed by this, Snare felt exhaustion creep on him a thousandfold and he was in no position to resist.

"Rest well," came the kind words.

The Predator hoped that he did.

 **iv.**

"...came to taunt?"

Impactor's helm turned slightly, but he refrained from facing the jet fully. Laying on his cockpit again, Snare was unable to move; his helm rested right beside the Wrecker sitting inexplicably on the floor at his berth upon waking up. Despite the shock presented in this situation alone, what truly caught the Predator off-guard was the fact that the other mech had done nothing for the longest time since his coming to.

"Waiting until I'm standing up before you start smacking me around again?," he asked hoarsely. Snare thought to add in a little laugh, but he did not have enough energy yet still. The throbbing, fresh sensors in his new wings were taking the focus of his self-repair units.

Impactor still did not respond for a while yet. "...You almost died...," came the eventual mutter.

"Did I?," Snare hummed in mild disbelief. "Would have been a shame if I'd missed that."

"You should have told me the damage was that bad!," the Wrecker snapped loudly, a fist pounding against the floor. "I would have done something sooner!"

The Predator stared at the back of the harpoonist's helm silently following his outburst. So many words came to mind at Impactor's statement, all of them cruel and scathing, yet not a single one made it as far as his glossa. He just didn't have the energy for them... "After all you've done," he whispered inquiringly, "Why do you think I would ever put my trust in you?"

The purple mech stiffened visibly, vents hissing with some unspoken emotion. Watching quietly still, Snare was not surprised when Impactor rose to his pedes and hurried from the medbay, instead of saying anything back. Shifting as much as the jet dared, he prepared to settle back into a medicated-recharge, slowly beginning to realize that the skies were not forbidden to him after all.

 **v.**

Each time he awoke, the Wrecker was there.

Seated in the same spot, silently tossing back engex; one servo gripping a half-empty jug, neither harpoon or limb set in the right arm. Uncharacteristically vulnerable. Mocking the purple mech would be perfectly fair in this situation. Yet, Snare could find no point in taunting. Circumstances had left him in the same place as the Autobot.

"Where's the ship heading now?," he softly inquired.

"Nowhere," came the drunk's mumbled reply. "Drifting."

"Seems like it's been a long time to be doing that," Snare sighed.

Impactor shrugged.

"Have you decided what you're going to do with this 'freak'?"

"Yes. No. I..." The Wrecker grunted, rubbing at his nasal ridge with the palm of his one servo; engex sloshing loudly in the bottom of the jug. "Just don't understand..."

Vaguely aware of where this was heading, the Predator decided to ask the question anyhow. "Don't understand what exactly? Just say it," he pressed gently. "I'm not exactly getting anywhere any time soon."

Setting down his drink, the purple mech turned slightly to gaze at the jet from one optic; the left side of his face fixed downwards in a puzzled frown. "You. Don't understand you...," Impactor answered slowly, "Why don't you care about how you're 'faced?"

"Because... From the moment I onlined, I hated this equipment installed into my frame," Snare explained in a soft hush. Gaze diverting as the Wrecker's one optic focused on him, the jet tried to wiggle a wing flap, finding the motion comforting even if painful still. "Flyers are considered promiscuous and charge-ridden by nature, and I've known many who fit that exact stereotype, but I've never been one," he continued, finding his glossa incredibly lax at this moment. "Oh, I attempted to conform at some point, but it changed nothing and only made things harder on myself."

"What happened?," the harpoonist inquired when the smaller mech paused.

"My partner at the time tried to kill me," the Predator confessed dismissively. "He was certain that I was mocking him."

"Oh..."

"Yes. He wasn't the only one though." Snare shifted, dropping an arm over the side of the berth as he tried to get more comfortable. "You're expected to be physically involved with others and they have a hard time believing if you say you can't feel a thing of it."

The berth shook a little as Impactor turned fully on his aft, facing the Decepticon, his face crinkled with confusion, disbelief and the slightest hint of revulsion. "But...," he started slowly, "That means... Only drones don't..."

The smaller mech waited, but it seemed his companion would not continue further. "Only drones don't feel," Snare finished, vocalizer dropping lower. "I know. This is the way I was forged though and I have nothing to fix, nothing to prove."

"That's what the whole secrecy was about?," Impactor asked, expression souring. "That whole thing with Overlord and-"

"I had no reason to explain myself to every 'bot that came around," the Predator interjected. "As for Overlord... He is a monster who only takes joy in his slaughter. Take that away from him and he is nothing. No other thing will occupy him nor satisfy him. In that regard, yes, we are the same... And I have seen the Institute take away 'bots for far much less than my peculiarity. I am not in need of reprogramming."

"I thought you said you don't feel anything," the purple mech commented ignorantly.

A chuckle escaped the Decepticon then, but it was short and humorless. Impactor gave him a strange look at the sound that Snare was sure to turn his helm away from; the optics continued to pierce into the back of his helm despite his actions though. "My neural net recognizes nothing -a stroke across wings, pinching of wires, or even a spike- what would be pleasurable to you is absent in my coding. But that doesn't mean I don't feel," he whispered, a queer misery slithering into his spark. "I still experience many things... pain especially..."

It was oddly silent behind him. Disinterested in turning back to the Wrecker, Snare stayed staring distantly at the wall next to his berth, only the sounds of the medbay machines making any kind of life around them.

 **vi.**

"He wasn't like that in the start..."

The Predator slowly onlined, neural net buzzing warmly as his radar noted the presence at his berthside. "Hmm...?"

Impactor fiddled with his servoless arm, helm downcast and shoulders tense. A quick survey of the room showed the absence of the Wrecker's usual drink. Realizing the severity of the situation, Snare tried to grasp at the words that had first roused him to begin with, struck with confusion at their meaning. Uncertain whether he should press the larger mech or let him continue on his own, the Decepticon remained silent, optics fixed to the back of the yellow helm.

"We were close," the harpoonist muttered. Snare was alarmed at the sorrow he noted in the other's tone. "Worked those slagging mines together, hit up the bars on base leave... The idiot was never the violent kind. Too wrapped up in his poetry and fancy words; helm filled with hopeless ideals and the belief that he could change Cybertron for better."

Was he talking about...? The Predator tensed as he absorbed Impactor's whispers, processor trying to solve the puzzle presented to him and feeling his tanks roil uneasily the more he made sense of it. Even stranger, the jet felt a pang of sympathy towards the larger mech.

"You were a soft-sparked fool... What happened to you, Megatron?," Impactor whispered, covering his face with his one servo.

Optics dimming, Snare started to reach a servo out towards the Wrecker, but stopped inches from the other's shoulder. Letting his arm drop again, the jet mulled over the point in saying anything at all. It's not as if Impactor deserved his sympathy...

"You're not like him."

The harpoonist spun around suddenly at the unexpected comment, his expression unreadable as he stared at the Decepticon. Apparently, he had not anticipated Snare being awake. Beyond that... the jet had no idea what was happening in the other's processor.

"I know my opinion doesn't count," Snare continued. Might as well finish what he started. "Just... so you're aware. I was wrong: you're not comparable."

For a long while, Impactor did not speak or even move. If it wasn't for his lit optics, the Predator could believe that the purple mech was deactivated. Then finally... "Shut up."

Such a typical response, even if it lacked heat. Venting, Snare turned his helm away from the Wrecker. "Fine," he replied, powering down once more.

Slipping into recharge, the jet thought that he felt something close softly around his dangling servo; a faint "I'm sorry" echoing in the growing darkness of his processor.

 **vii.**

"Your wings are orange."

It was another orn of mindless chatter.

"Oh?," Snare mumbled, pushing himself up a little to look over his shoulder. He still couldn't move much, but a lot of his injuries had healed finally, and it was merely a matter of time before the jet could leave the berth all together. In the meantime, engaging in conversation with Impactor was the only activity available among the monotonous waiting. "Huh... so they are..."

"Nasty shade," Impactor mused, a finger extending to poke at the thin plating. He paused just at the edge of the angled metal, curling his finger back into the rest of his fist and yanking his servo back to his side.

The Predator glanced between the Wrecker's servo and the mech himself for a quiet moment, before shifting and laying back down; his chin rested on his folded arms. "You're right," he said casually. "Much too neon for my liking. And the hot-pink decals are nauseating. I wasn't aware I would be getting a new fashion statement with my repairs."

The harpoonist scratched at his cheekplate idly, shrugging. "Doc's decision. Said that your installed wings were beyond surgical repair. Replacement would be easier and safer," Impactor answered.

"And what medic was this?," Snare inquired.

"Some 'bot who used to do contract-medical work for Vos," the Wrecker replied. "Or so he claimed. Didn't want to tell me more, but he did good work for his payment. You need me to track him down?"

"No. Just was wondering..." The jet paused for a moment, processor whirring away. "I've had those wings since the beginning. It's... strange... knowing that there's new metal in its place. I'll just have to repaint them once I can leave."

"Yeah- wait, what?!" Impactor sat upright quickly, facing the Decepticon with a scowl on his lip components. "What do you mean 'once you can leave'?," he demanded, punching the side of the berth. "You can't go!"

Surprised by the aggressive reaction, Snare could only glare back, feeling his fists curl beneath his chin. "I never stated that I'd be staying, whether or not you got someone to repair me. In fact, I believe I made my standpoint on this subject clear by strapping a grenade to the loading dock doors," the jet said tersely. "Face it, Impactor -no matter what you do, I'll still find a way to escape. I have no ties here."

The Wrecker's expression contorted from displeasure to rage in less than an astrosecond; the purple mech springing to his pedes with a speed that belied his size. Looming close to the Decepticon -so close that Snare could hear the grinding of Impactor's denta- Impactor grabbed the jet's arm, snarling into his face. "You're not leaving again. I'll make certain of it!"

"Ow! You can't-" Snare was cut off as the Autobot threw his arm back at him, rocking the smaller mech on the berth and causing him to knock against some of his sore spots. "Slaggit, Impactor! You can't do this!"

"Watch me," the harpoonist grunted stubbornly, heading for the doorway without a backwards glance.

"You slag-ridden idiot!," the Predator cursed, slapping the berth before him. Grunting, he dropped back on his cockpit, scowling at the door across the room. Why did Impactor have to cause him such grief? Couldn't the brute just pick one attitude and stick to it, instead of switching back and forth? Huffing irritably, Snare once again prepped for recharge. With the Wrecker gone, there wasn't any real reason to remain online at the moment.


	8. Chapter 8

**C.M.D: Been trying to work on this chapter for a while now, but alas, I will not be adding more to this one so I figured I may as well share it and hopefully that'll get the juices flowing so I can continue. In the meantime, please enjoy!**

 **i.**

He awoke to the sounds of fighting. Turning slightly on the medical slab, Snare stared at the door, echoes of a scuffle ringing outside the medbay loudly while he quietly flexed pedes and fingers. With a ringing clang, everything fell silent; a klik later, the door slid open following a successful code entry. Unsurprising, it was Impactor.

"I see you finally got the door fixed," the Predator said in lieu of a greeting.

The Wrecker glanced at the smaller mech for a moment, before heading towards one of the side cabinets. Obviously being ignored, Snare watched as the harpoonist fished for a welder with his one servo, turning it on and awkwardly angling it toward a gash across his side. It was a poor job, but the harpoonist managed to keep the two pieces close enough together that the metal fused in a decent fix. The repair would not be winning an beauty contests, unfortunately.

"He's more than capable of killing me, you know," Snare called out as Impactor tossed the tool away.

The Autobot paused at the statement, his helm angling toward the flyer enough to allow a glare.

"If he doesn't do it first, I'm sure you will," he added.

Slamming the cabinet door back in place, Impactor faced the Decepticon, already snarling. "If this is some sort of fragging slag as to why I should let you go gallivanting about the Unicron-damned universe, like some sort of grounded idiot, you can forget it!," the purple mech barked. "Mark or not, you're a fragging 'con and any 'bot would be more than happy to stick a slug between your dimwitted optics!"

"Like you... right?" This time, the Wrecker was truly frozen. Mouth twisted open, prepped for a returning bellow, the sound fizzled out before it reached much further from his vocalizer. Snare was glad for the silence, but when their optics met, he was the first to drop his gaze. Unluckily, it fell to the paint-flecked harpoon dangling from Impactor's side.

The rest of the words tumbled out of the Predator's mouth unbidden at that point. "There hasn't been a moment since I first awoke after Garrus-9 that the two of you haven't made it your mission to slaughter every mech wearing a Decepticon faction mark. It's not a 'justice' thing either," he said lowly, "It's... You just do. The only thing that matters is the kill."

Snare found the strength to look up once more, catching the Autobot lifting his optics from his own harpoon as well. "You don't even fight the feeling and I have the scars to prove it. One orn, you'll snuff my spark finally... and you won't notice, because, as you say, I'm still a 'con," he finished.

Something flashed across Impactor's face, indiscernible to the viewer, before the Wrecker defaulted to his regular setting: rage. Flinching as equipment was thrown around the medbay, the flyer was relieved when the purple mech marched his fit to another part of the ship. Sadly, relief was not the same as happy.

 **ii.**

It was time. After countless weeks of waiting and even longer orns of slowly easing into his new connectors, it was time to fly. Neural net was abuzz with anticipation, fuel lines pumping quick and turbines warming at his heels. The full-frame reaction was dizzying, yet Snare knew it would not compare to the sensation of flight. Having almost lost it, the experience would be pure ecstasy.

Which is why it was unsettling to find his way to the ship's docking bay strangely uneventful. Given Impactor's dangerous obsession to keep the Predator, the flyer had expected locks, pass codes, trip wires... Slag, he had honestly believed he would find the Wrecker sitting at the dock doors, a loaded rifle in his lap.

Nothing.

Nada.

Alone, Snare slowly turned about the loading dock, everything peaceful as it should be if the ship hadn't been commandeered by two unstable Autobots. Confused, the Decepticon looked at the keypad for the exterior doors again, yet they still remained unlocked as well. All he had to do was press the open command... Pushing aside the worrying vocalizer whispering about traps, the Predator went ahead and pressed the keypad, starting to tremble from top to bottom. Alarms began blaring overhead at the action, but were quickly subdued by the controlled atmosphere being sucked into the depth of space, Snare allowing himself to be ripped out of the ship the same way. He tumbled and rolled about in a drunken fashion for a few astroseconds, before he righted himself and transformed. Gears still protested the action, yet it went along smoother than all the times the Predator had practiced in the medbay, leaving only a mild sting as a whole new relay of sensors activated.

Fortune seemed to be smiling on the Decepticon finally, for his radar picked up energy readouts coming from a reasonable distance, in the opposite direction of Impactor's ship. Probably a pit-stop or something along the lines of. Good enough to pick up further bearings and put as much distance between himself and the Wreckers as possible. Destination set, Snare twisted his nosecone towards the energy source, his turbines to the shuttle still flying forward steadily.

Though his equipment estimated the journey to be less than an orn, it easily took three times longer than that. Free at last, flight-able and all alone, the Decepticon could not resist as he dived, rolled and spiraled in sparkling-like abandonment; spark humming jubilantly to be suspended among the glittering galaxy again.

 **iii.**

"Primus, you really went through quite a ringer," the Autobot chuckled, surveying the Predator from top to bottom as he circled around the small room. His arms were already laden with supplies, but that didn't stop the mech from gathering up even more items. "You sure you don't want me to dang out those dents? It'd be best to do it before the paint."

Snare sat on a half-slab, resisting the urge to scratch at his crawling circuits beneath his plating. It was unusual to have an Autobot be so friendly towards him (Impactor, obviously, did not count) and the overwhelming amount of kind attention set the flyer on edge. Oddly, he felt like a liar, despite having no second agenda. Realizing he was being watched, the Predator rebooted his vocalizer, answering the Autobot, "U-um, no. I'm fine."

"Well, I guess I get it," the minibot hummed, almost stumbling before finally setting down his load. His fingers set to work piecing together a spray-gun, pulling canisters of colours closer to himself as he did. "I mean, things are still kinda rough even here and-"

Snare tuned the Autobot out. There was only so much patience he had for mindless babbling, but the little mech was tolerable enough. Also, he was the only one in the grounded spacecraft with any engineer skills.

"So-"

"Hey, you still working?" The question was produced by a femme who poked her helm into the tiny room through the open doorway. Where the engineer was small, his assistant was tall and wide and more obnoxious than the Predator could accept. As if to prove his point, the larger Autobot turned her attention to Snare next, a foolish smile stretching her face. "Heya fly-bot. Wow! I didn't get a closer look at you earlier; you're so cute! Feel like a drink after?"

"Only if it's acid," Snare replied crisply. It took a moment to realize what he'd just said, but the Predator was decidedly unrepentant for his candidness despite the Autobots' stunned expressions.

Mouth twisting sideways, the femme punched away from the door, storming off down the hall and making a lot of noise as she did. The minibot made an awkward sound at his assistant's departure, turning a sympathetic smile to the flyer. "Sorry, she can be... very confrontational sometimes," he said. "I'm sure she won't stay mad forever. It's just a good thing you let her know ahead of time, so there's no troubles later on down the road."

It was the Predator's turn to stare at the Autobot incredulously. "I'm... I'm not staying," he mumbled. The engineer looked up from mixing his colours, his optics clearing displaying his disappointment. "Sorry. I just... can't."

"N-no, no, it's alright. You probably have somewhere else to return to," the minibot sighed, still smiling, though it had dimmed in vibrancy. "So, uh... you sure you want crimson red? I mean, I could give you a whole repaint. Maybe in a brighter colour too! Since, you're, uh, kinda dark..."

Snare didn't realize he'd started drifting in his thoughts. Shaking the daze off, he tried to recall the Autobot's question; shaking his helm again when he did. "No, just the wings. Thank you," he tacked on uncertainly. The minibot nodded, loading his spray-gun with the final paint mixture in silence, leaving the Predator to mull over his words.

 **iv.**

Pedes slowly tapped down on metal, magnetic grips activating on silent command. Adjusting to a sense of weight after so many cycles weightless, it was kliks before the Predator moved, walking to the bulkhead's edge and sitting with his legs dangling over the side.

"You came back..."

"I did," Snare replied to the hushed comment.

"You were right," came the next miserable statement.

"No, I wasn't," the flyer dissented, turning his helm to the right. Along the edge a few meters from him, sat Impactor; the worn-down Wrecker staring off into the depth of space vacantly, an empty glass in his one servo. Seeing that the purple mech was giving him no attention, Snare turned his own gaze back to the stars, venting softly. "Back on Garrus-9, I... You were one of his favourites. He was set on saving you for after he'd finished with the others, knowing you'd make it worth it with everything you witnessed. I think that's why I turned to you."

"I heard the rumors, knew of your ferocity in battle. It was the sensible choice. Despite whatever reasons led to you being imprisoned by your fellow kin," Snare continued, "I believed you would send help for them once out. I never expected that you would actually come back as well."

Catching a hint of motion to his side, the Predator turned his helm back to Impactor, vocalizer fritzing for a moment as he caught the other's gaze. Rebooting it quickly, the flyer plowed forward, refusing to let himself fall quiet again. "I understand now what you're fighting against," he told the harpoonist, "But I know what I saw that orn as well. This thing can't control you if you don't let it."

It didn't seem as if his words had any effect though. The Wrecker sat there in silent misery still, staring at him intensely, his optics a dark amber. "Stay," he finally responded. " _Please_." The last part escaped in a broken whisper.

"On one condition," the smaller mech started, "Let me help you."

A quick, solemn nod.

"Then I will stay," Snare promised.

 **v.**

"The next step is," the jet said, pausing when weapons clacked loudly together. He glanced up from his datapad, watching Impactor holster his weapons back in the hidden depository, waiting for his chance to continue, "Is to review your mission lineup."

The Wrecker grunted, throwing back a puzzled look.

"You've been selecting hunting missions specifically for several quartex now," Snare informed stoutly. "Don't give me that look," he added when Impactor turned around, a displeased scowl fixed on his face, "It's the truth. When was the last time you went out on a mission _without_ the intent to slaughter Decepticons?"

"They deserved it," the purple mech growled.

The flyer sighed, trying to keep calm with the stubborn Wrecker. "I'm not going to advocate that many of my... _that_... faction are saints, but," he emphasized, "That doesn't mean you can be judge and jury. If you believe that you're always in the right to mete out justice, then you will never recover from this addiction. And if you won't help yourself first and foremost then I can't stay."

Impactor looked as if he was going to break out into an angry tirade just then, yet the harpoonist only clamped his mouth shut, venting heavily as the moment finally passed. "What do you propose?," he asked lowly.

"It's a big universe out there," Snare replied, "I'm sure we can find many ways to help. There's no need to seek out a fight first."

The Wrecker seemed dubious but he refrained from commenting on it. Turning back to the depository, he closed the doors and set on changing the passcode while the Predator scrolled through his notes. He was just about to speak again when he heard something at the bridge doorway. Intakes froze momentarily as he glanced up, finding Guzzle standing there silently. The minibot looked from Impactor at the wall, unaware of his presence, then to the jet. His optics narrowed into a glare immediately, the Autobot storming away before anything could be said.

Shooting a look at the oblivious harpoonist, Snare let his attention drop back down to his datapad, deciding to keep his doubts to himself for now.

 **C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	9. Chapter 9

**C.M.D: Yeeeep... Still not done. But -one more chapter! So, progress is progress. In either case, I hope everyone enjoys!**

 **i.**

He was back in control once more. Keycards, passcodes and surveillance scripted under his designation. Once more, it was Snare's word that reigned higher than the small group he was paired with, yet the jet never thought it would be in this way. Impactor -the fiercest and infamous Wrecker- hanging onto his every word; desperate to comply to any command, despite wanting to do the opposite.

It was the sort of situation that many Decepticons had fantasized over with lustful affections, yet most would never experience.

Snare was, unsurprisingly, not one of those and he felt somewhat at odds, aware of how much authority he held now. He mostly put it out of his processor, falling back into the routines of his old security position and tried to treat the situation like that. It worked fairly well.

 **ii.**

Luminescent critters buzzed within wire cages, spaced eight by ten feet apart, in a grid-like pattern across the uneven plane. It was poor lighting really, when up against the bleak, grey sky, but it didn't bother Snare in his work. Unlike the organic creatures skirting warily around him, he did not need the meager illumination. Pushing the creaking cart forward, the Predator made his way to the Wrecker tearing into the hard planetary exterior with a dull hoe, a series of frustrated grunts accompanying each hit.

"You shouldn't swing so hard," the smaller mech spoke up, stopping his cart to pick up the larger rocks that had already been dug free. "You might break it and then you'll have to use your servos."

Impactor cracked the ground with another mighty hammer, burying the hoe's head deep. "I'd have a fragging better chance of removing this slag if I did!," he spat, resting for a moment after giving the tool an experimental wiggle. "What was the reason I didn't just bring my drill bit again?"

"Do you think you really need it?," Snare returned. Having already picked up the loose rocks, he set to pulling at the crumbling slabs around the harpoonist's still-standing hoe. The pieces were much larger and scratched at his plating as he grabbed at them, but the flyer managed fine. Engrossed in his task, he didn't notice Impactor watching him silently.

"Ain't nothing wrong with having the proper tools," the Wrecker finally grumbled out a few kliks later, "But no, I don't need it. I'm tougher than this rock."

"Glad to hear it," the Predator smiled minutely, straightening back up. The larger mech grumbled incoherently, grabbing at his hoe the instant Snare was clear of its immediate area, digging up any leftover rocks and churning the soft dirt beneath.

"Just go check on Guzzle and bring me a drink," he ordered.

That was the last thing he wanted to do, yet the ex-Decepticon nodded his helm tersely, pushing his cart back across the half-tilled field to where he had last seen the minibot. He only hoped that the other Wrecker was just mildly annoyed with his task as well.

 **iii.**

 _'This again,'_ Snare thought, hearing the thunderous clangs of fighting echo through the ship. The Predator paused, shifting the heavy crate of supplies uncomfortably, as he tried to pinpoint which direction the sounds were coming from. It took awhile but eventually he deduced the origin of the noise... down in the crew's quarters area, just before the cargo bay where the flyer was currently heading.

 _Great._

There was no point in returning the crate back to the bridge and leaving it in the narrow halls until a later time was just foolish. Snare had no choice but to continue onward and hope that whatever scuffle the two Wreckers had engaged in would resolve itself before he arrived. If not... Well, it wouldn't be the first time the ex-Decepticon had to make his way around an idiotic contest of strength and pride. Heavy-duty grounders and their overheated pistons...

Despite the noise, the flyer walked on in relative peace, until a certain bellow bounced along the tinny walls.

"-fragging FARMING! I'm no backwater lackey; I'm a Wrecker!" A clang. "We should be out there riddling those 'cons full of holes, not rusting our joints beating up rocks for a bunch of ooze-spewing organics!"

Impactor was next to roar, his vocalizer just carrying over the din of a tight scuffle. "Here's a newsflash, newbie- YOU AIN'T WITH THE WRECKERS! You wanna throw yourself in the nearest bunker of slag-eating 'cons, feel free to jump ship! Otherwise, my 'craft; my rules!"

"'Your 'craft'?," Guzzle barked, the barest hint of a twisted laugh in the tone, "You really think you're calling the shots around here? You haven't had a single rational thought since you pierced your favourite 'con spike-pillow. You're just some glorified lap toy!"

It wasn't hard to distinguish what the following 'boom' was, or who it was that had been thrown into

the bulkhead. A lengthy silence filled the ship after the heated argument, pressing into the flyer and his joints with a physical viscosity similar to that of mud or gumming oil. Just like its comparisons, the reprieve left Snare's neural net twisting in queer discomfort. The doorway leading down into the ship's quarters was up ahead -less than ten feet away!- but the Predator had long since lost the motivation to take another step forward.

Then, just when things were becoming unbearable, gears and actuators gave a little pop, hiss and grind as they moved their host into motion; breaking the suppressing air that had settled during the fight.

" _My_ rules," Impactor hissed, staring down at the minibot struggling to push himself out of the bulkhead on weak legs. Guzzle said nothing, merely glowered with a look that surely accompanied the twitching of his trigger finger -which the larger Wrecker had been certain to twist viciously at the start of the skirmish, rendering Guzzle's primary servo temporarily useless. Certain that he'd won this argument, the harpoonist turned and stormed up the staircase, eager for a stiff drink in the galley.

He didn't even acknowledge the cargo crate, sitting abandoned a few metres away from the staircase door, as he passed.

 **iv.**

Everything had gone wrong.

A blackened dancer on a cloud of smog, the Predator spun and twirled through the hail of gunfire, afraid that at any moment he'd be shot down. In desperate panic, Snare tried to weave old, battle-tried patterns in the air, zipping around turrets and blast stations alike, engines growling loudly. There was no better sound than that of concrete and plasma blasters exploding behind the flyer, but the skies were far from being completely clear. Scanners beeped incessantly as his instruments were pushed harder than usual; fear pounding a rhythm into the erratic spark as useless optics hoped that radar would find what he could not.

 _'This was just a supply run!,'_ Snare shouted to himself in silence. The zone had been void of all Decepticon activity -he'd checked; thrice! His processor replaying archived clips of the ambush did little to qualm the panic threatening to overwhelm the ex-Decepticon and, after successfully taking out another hidden firing bunker, Snare was forced to land lest his distractions get him killed. He was a walking target this way but he had to locate Impactor and the minibot and get airborne before any prospective reinforcements arrived.

Running through smoke and raining debris, the Predator kept his optics peeled for any flashes of purple or yellow among the blaster-lit field. More than a few times he cursed the absence of any weapon on his person. This was only supposed to be a supply run...

Twisting around the crumbling remains of a large boulder, Snare almost cried out in relief... until he noticed that the Autobot he had discovered was none other than an energon-drenched Guzzle. "You...," the minibot murmured lowly, his optics bright with madness.

"I-i-" He tried to speak but his vocalizer kept halting on the sounds, cutting out into warbled bursts of static before fading altogether. The Wrecker didn't notice. He was walking away from the recently snuffed corpse, tilting the magenta-coated muzzle of The Judge toward Snare. "Wait, d-don't-!"

The Predator screamed as Guzzle took a shot, the heavy shell burrowing deep into his thigh; barely missing the fuel tank that it had been aimed at, if not for the clumsy jump the flyer had made. Forced on to his aft, Snare tried to drag himself further away from the minibot with every stiff step he took closer. Never turning around for fear that the deranged mech would just load him up with rounds before he could transform.

"Should of known this was your doing. Thinking you're so clever," Guzzle was mumbling senselessly. His gaze never faltered. "Pretty it up all you want: a greasy valve is still a greasy valve. And a 'con ain't good 'less he's dead."

Snare watched as the Wrecker reloaded The Judge, the barrel beginning to light from within as the shot readied. He knew he was as good as dead; there'd be no reasoning with the minibot when he was this far gone. Terror thrummed through his energon lines, and knowing he had no weapons, no chance and a grave injury to hold him back, Snare still lunged forward in the split astrosecond that Guzzle glanced away. It was clumsy and chaotic and the action would have certainly gotten him court-marshalled, but the Predator managed to claw and bite the blaster away from the Autobot's servos, unmindful to the scuffs he received for his efforts. One, heavy swing across the temple with the stolen weapon rendered Guzzle immobile and like a lubricant-spilling newbie, Snare transformed and raced back to the abandoned shuttle.

When Impactor, and even Guzzle, made it back was anybody's guess. The trail of energon they'd left behind remained for orns before the Predator was well enough to clear away the mess.

 **v.**

Impactor stood, taking up the hallway, when Snare returned to the ship, leaning heavily on a makeshift cane as he walked. The Wrecker leaned against the open doorway of Guzzle's room, staring silently within. He showed no signs of moving or even acknowledging the Predator's presence. Patience dwindling quickly as his leg began to ache furiously, Snare clicked his vocalizer a few times, loudly, rousing the Autobot from his musings.

"What's wrong?," he asked as yellow optics lighted on him.

Impactor's jaw moved wordlessly for a moment, before sound followed. "Guzzle... hasn't returned yet since disembarking. He hasn't answered any comms either and his things are gone." The harpoonist paused, face pulling downward in a puzzled frown. "...What happened to you?"

Oh, so _now_ he noticed the injury the flyer had been sporting for nearly a deca-cycle. If there had been any engineers or medics on this pitiful station, Snare wouldn't still be limping around with an almost-dead leg. "So he's left, then?," he surmised, ignoring Impactor's question. "About time."

"Exactly what is _that_ supposed to mean?," the Wrecker snarled, whirling on the jet angrily.

The Predator stood there stubbornly, an unimpressed scowl on his face as the purple warrior loomed over him. "I mean," he began, going slow as if he was talking to a half-witted sparkling, "That it's probably best that Guzzle went on his own way. He wasn't doing you any favours anyhow."

"He's a valuable member of my team!," Impactor roared. "Maybe if you knew how to fight-"

"Are you fragging serious?!," Snare interrupted, a rage starting to build up in his frame. He awkwardly stumbled forward, shoving the butt of his cane against the harpoonist's chestplates. "I didn't just 'accidentally' get my leg nearly blown off- that crazed minibot tried to kill me! He's deranged, Impactor! He lives for the slaughter; he doesn't want out like you! And if you're happier joining in on his suicide ride, then I'm gone!"

Gritting his denta against the shocking pangs of agony, the Predator scraped past the Wrecker messily, limping as quick as he could back to his room. Impactor was quiet in the hall behind him as he left.

 **vi.**

It shouldn't have come as any surprise that Snare didn't end up leaving. Despite Impactor's incredibly dumb comments, the ex-Decepticon didn't want to unload onto the only port that the gun-toting minibot was known to have jumped ship at. That would surely end with a shell in his helm this time. So, the Predator stayed.

That meant for a long time he remained squared away in his room, doing minimal exercises and generally trying to fix his stiffening leg, without worsening the cumbersome injury. Until one orn, there came a knock at his door. Impactor stood dolefully on the other side.

Nothing was said for several kliks; Snare having decided he was done always being the one to start. Then, the Wrecker mumbled. "...we're drifting..."

It was an odd statement to make. Yet, the flyer had the distinct impression it wasn't the ship that Impactor was referring to. As if to prove his point, the Autobot turned his helm away an inch, his fists clenching and unclenching periodically at his sides as he stood in the doorway mutely; his gaze, though, kept returning to Snare in side-long glances.

"C... C-can I...," the Wrecker's vocalizer clicked uncertainly, his whole frame seeming to weigh down suddenly as he fixed the smaller mech with a pleading look, "Can I talk... please?"

This was... bizarre. Snare felt his fuel tanks roll into a knotted ball as he took in the harpoonist before him, noticing his vulnerability but unable to halt the increasing discomfort growing with the situation. He'd never been good at handling others' emotions. History dictated he should shut the door in the purple warrior's face; return to his poor repairs and forget that the other mech ever came knocking in the first place.

That would be the most sensible thing to do.

Instead, the Predator shuffled back a couple, awkward steps, silently inviting Impactor to enter. And, after a hesitant moment, the Wrecker did.

 **vii.**

Stress always had a way of running circuits hot. Ground-pounders, specifically those with heavy alt-modes, had a tendency to over-charge often. Heated plating pressed down on his frame and Snare squirmed, his thoughts focused on how inconvenient it was for a 'bot to burn up like this so often. Impactor, in the meantime, was completely ignorant to the flyer's judging; grunting and grinding as he sought to conquer his challenging peak. Steaming to the touch and now even further aggravated, the Wrecker pushed away, allowing Snare a reprieve from his molten prison.

"'S no good...," the harpoonist grumbled, vocalizer slurring a bit as the charge crackled through his frame. "This one's not working either!"

The Predator didn't know what to say. They'd already been through a series of positions and angles. Impactor had halted half-way through each time, complaining that he wasn't burning off the tension and forcing them to try something new. Fragging (or, attempting to at this point, really) was only frustrating the larger mech further, instead of distracting the Wrecker from his violent tendencies and relaxing him. At this point, Snare felt too uneasy to suggest they stop altogether but what else could they do?

Almost as if the Autobot had read the flyer's thoughts, Impactor spoke up. "Show your ports. We're hard-linking."

Silence followed the growled command. Stunned, Snare could only stare at the larger mech. Grunting irritably, the Wrecker took the initiative as per usual -except this time, careless servos were snapping back his canopy none-too-gently; reaching to peel back the layers of plating beneath, while his other servo swung away panels on the harpoonist's own frame. The flyer couldn't move. He'd never had anyone try to get in under his canopy before. Only a sensory array, a thick and heavy barrier between his spark casing and the rest of his chestplates, lied underneath and that was a medical necessity. Should Snare have any reason to bear that, then he knew that the situation was grave.

But here Impactor was, cracking into the delicate area with an improbable speed, pulling thin wires out from tiny nooks in the array as if by magic. Bright optics only watched as a secondary set appeared, leading out of the encroaching purple chestplates; the dangling cords closing in, aiming for a line of ports and- Suddenly it all clicked and Snare's vocalizer hiccuped into a panicked start, but it was too late.

Energy crashed over the Predator, stinging like a slap to the face, but affecting him from helm to pede. He felt over-heated, then frigid, alarmed and- Thoughts raced away before he could grasp them, swirling around in a dizzying maelstrom, separating reality and illusion before smashing them together violently until neither was recognizable. His spark heaved with emotion, grieved and ecstatic, so he clutched at the swelling waves of heat. Steady words bounced across chaotic space, echoes of a conversation made in the absence of moving mouths, eliciting a shared laugh. With sound came fear, striking in the astrosecond of its birth; ragged claws digging inside, pain electric and bright. Fire crashed down, unlikely relief, showering sparks that left soothing tingles across black and red planes. Caged. Yet calm. Components parting, poised to scathe as was natural; 'til rises of violet amber broke time, pleasure a croon to trumpet forth.

 **viii.**

Snare onlined from blackness; optics gazing up at the ceiling frightfully. The absence of memory had dissipated in the same second consciousness took hold and his spark pulsed erratically, safely hidden away under battle-heavy armor. That was the only consolation. Joints, aching with a soreness unusual, were slow to move and, when he finally managed it, only for the Predator to realize he wasn't alone.

On the berth, sunken deep in recharge apparently, was Impactor. That clawing, squirming discomfort had returned, worse than usual. Snare had acquiesced to proposals of berth-sharing before -but those only lasted until the Wrecker had finished. Neither of them had lingered long afterwards. Yet here they both lay, frames pressed close while they'd recharged for an indeterminate time following...

It was all an echo. Sounds, touch, sights. Pounding against the curve of his cranium, causing visual pixels to scatter sporadically as he worked to push the pressure aside. He didn't want to think about those things. Didn't want to feel them in any form or sense. Sensory net crackling, Snare hurried to remove himself from the berth. He paused, half-way across the room when he heard Impactor stir; thankfully, the Autobot only settled down again, and the flyer was able to sneak away unseen.


	10. Chapter 10

**C.M.D: It's update period once again! Only one chapter this month, ah well, but sure to be a great one! ...Or, at least, I hope it's great. I'll even settle for good. Anyways, thanks for stopping by and please enjoy!**

 **i.**

Impactor followed him out onto the hull of the ship some time later. Snare noticed it, in the curve of another loop around the rear thrusters, almost breaking the rhythm of his dance. He twisted a fraction of a degree, regaining momentum and continued with his patterns, always aware of the Wrecker watching but diligent to ignore him. He was forced to take notice when yellow fingers reached to skim his underbelly in passing. The reaction was an automatic, violent lurch away from the servo; heat blazing from his turbines in incandescent streams as they fired at maximum thrust.

Suddenly, the Predator was under the ship, far from the invasive Autobot. A panel on his dashboard noted that he might have scorched the purple mech too.

Good.

Gliding further from the spacecraft, cradling the zone between distant and dangerous, Snare continued his vorn-old patterns. Looping, diving, corkscrewing... Eventually, Impactor clambered back inside after some cycles had passed. A few breems later, the requesting pings to open his comm also died out. Finally alone again, the ex-Decepticon returned to his thoughtless reprieve among the emptiness and stardust. Only when his reserves had run alarming low and the ice weighed down his wings, creeping into his thrusters and crawling under his cockpit, did Snare board the ship also.

 **ii.**

Impactor had chosen this job -and Snare could see why.

The two of them sat opposite each other, disassembling scrap for a Junkion trader, who had hit the professional goldmine in an abandoned Decepticon Warship. In an odd trait for a Junkion, their employer didn't want to dismantle everything himself nor did he have any friends he could trust to the spoils. Apparently, Junkion were extremely territorial of their junk. So he'd hired the pair but, in true paranoid fashion, ordered them to one miserable workbench while the Junkion worked on a larger table a few feet away, his optic fixed on the odd couple constantly.

The Predator despised it. He'd never felt more scrutinized in his life than he did under those two fierce gazes. He ignored it (as any self-respecting Decepticon would) until Impactor opened his mouth.

"You've been avoiding me," he whispered. The tone was non-accusatory. _For now._

"I have not," the flyer was quick to reply, his attention fixed to his tasks.

He only caught the edge of motion on his peripheral before yellow fingers moved to brush across his knuckles. Snare lurched away quicker than if someone had been about to pour molten plasma over his servo. Instantly, he realized his mistake, and though the ex-Decepticon attempted to cover it up, he knew it was too late. He could feel Impactor boring into the back of his helm as Snare turned away to another pile of waiting scrap, fingers fumbling with twisted bits of metal and glass fragments.

Whatever the look the Wrecker was giving him, it was not an expression the flyer wanted to remember.

 **iii.**

His servos bumped across the table, scattering the tech he'd currently been working on, as the ship was rocked with turbulence. Seeing that all his hard work of the last decacycle was in pieces on the floor, Snare decided to forget about the mess for the time being and head out to the deck. The turbulence worsened as he did, indicative that the ship was breaking atmosphere.

"What did we hit?," he demanded, grabbing part of the door frame to keep upright as he stepped onto the bridge.

Impactor sat in the pilot's chair, flipping switches and tapping dials as he calmly directed the shuttle through a cluster of asteroids.

"Didn't hit anything," he replied flatly.

"Then why exactly are we heading towards the moon there?," Snare asked, his wings tensing. He had yet to decide if he was angry or terrified by the Wrecker's nonchalant attitude.

"We're heading to the moon 'cause I say we are. Got a job to do."

"I never cleared-"

"Again, not your choice," Impactor interrupted.

The Predator bit his glossa deeply, feeling a part of the mesh crack and the tangy zest of pumped energon fill his mouth. Not once had the harpoonist turned to look at the flyer when he spoke; his words void of nearly all inflection. So, that's how it was going to be...

"Fine," Snare mumbled to the Autobot's back, turning to head back to his quarters. This wasn't the first time Impactor had done something like this without consulting the ex-Decepticon beforehand. In fact, this was just one more of the many similar choices that the larger mech had made without the Predator's knowledge.

Perhaps, he reflected darkly, this chapter of his life was finally drawing to a close.

 **iv.**

He heard the heavy pedes scuff into the galley just as he put the glass to his lip components; he winced at the hard swallow, nearly choking as he hurried to set the ration back down. Impactor managed to cross the room while Snare was distracted, one servo grasping his waist, the other sliding the flyer's mask further down the counter and out of his reach.

"Hey," the Wrecker rumbled in raspy greeting, his mouth already nibbling along the smaller mech's collar struts, "I was thinking we should-"

" _No_ ," came the Predator's tart reply. Impactor shuttered his optics slowly, pulling away from the black plating, a scowl now carved on his features.

"Why-?" Snare threw his elbow hard into the harpoonist's abdomen, interrupting the Wrecker a second time. Stunned, Impactor stumbled back a step; snapping out of his shock when he saw the ex-Decepticon try to scramble around the bar. With a roar, the purple mech sprang forward, grabbing Snare by the back of his neck and slamming him into the counter; his mask bouncing off and skittering somewhere across the floor from the violent outburst.

"What is wrong with you?!," he bellowed, pressing down harder on Snare's backstruts. "I don't get it. Everything was fine! _We_ were fine! Why won't you even talk to me anymore?!"

The Predator's limbs flailed in panic, trying to find some sort of leverage. His heels snagged against his assailant's knee joints and Snare wisely used it to angle his thruster into Impactor's crotch, switching the turbine from rest to maximum drive in point-three astroseconds flat. Shouting in pain, the harpoonist released the flyer, grabbing him by his thighs instead and swinging him into the floor.

"S-slaggit," Impactor growled, wincing as his singed pelvis blared damage reports at him. He stomped awkwardly toward the smaller mech, still trying to reorient his frazzled sensors, an arm outstretched to grab one of those trembling wings. "This is the kind of fragging bullscrap I'm tired of! You set the rules; I've followed. Now you're not talking to me! What happened that you-?!"

Snare had just managed to roll over, trying to get his bum leg to respond so he could escape. He threw his arms over his cockpit in a panic instead as he saw the enraged Autobot close in on him; optics large and bright, shaking from helm to pede. The Wrecker stalled at the sight, all emotion draining from his face as he took in the Predator's unusually exposed features with sudden revelation.

"W-when were you...?," he tried to speak, stuttering and forgetting his words entirely. "Have y-you never...?"

The ex-Decepticon didn't answer, lip components sealed shut, forearms pressing tighter against his chestplates as he followed the larger mech's every move. Gripping the counter suddenly, Impactor moved his mouth, wanting yet unable to produce any sounds past the fist of nausea punching his insides. Feeling his legs threaten to give out under him, the Wrecker pushed away from the bar rapidly; tearing out of the room without another glance back at the Predator.

Silence fell in the galley soon after. Snare stared at the empty spot Impactor had vacated, sluggish to comprehend anything beyond his jittery intakes. His spark was still rotating in wild bursts within, shooting bolts of lightning across his circuitry that frightfully reminded him of the equally as violent outside touches upon his mind. Slowly, the flyer lowered himself back to the floor as his tanks hiccuped in distress, resting against the cool, flat surface. His arms remained wrapped around his torso protectively as the cycles passed by.

 **v.**

They'd stopped at this half-way station at the purple warrior's insistence.

Impactor grabbed his arm before the flyer had stepped off the ramp, pulling him into the crowds as the dock lifted up behind them. "This way," he gruffed.

"What? Where the frag are we going?!," Snare snapped, pulling testily at the Wrecker's grip. He didn't have the leverage to break those yellow digits apart and the attempt put him off-balance; all of his weight crashing down on his useless leg. The Predator stifled the cry of pain that rose, fumbling to re-orient himself so as to not collapse right on the pier. He could not bear that embarrassment on top of being dragged about like a disobedient sparkling.

Impactor seemed to take notice that his companion was having difficulties, for he stopped, watching as Snare fixed his posture. Once the ex-Decepticon had the cane under him properly again, the Autobot continued his unknown trek- thankfully, a little slower this time.

"You didn't answer me," Snare spoke up as Impactor's tugging took them up from the port and into the modest town. "Where are you taking me?" He glared as the harpoonist continued to ignore him; turbines heating rapidly. If he hadn't been finding it harder and harder to transform with his bum leg, the Predator would have done so in a sparkbeat, firing thrusters in the Wrecker's face before taking off.

There was nothing Snare hated more than being manhandled around, with no word or indication of what was going on.

Just as he was debating whether or not to give escape a try, Impactor turned into a white building; sliding doors shutting behind the pair, trapping Snare temporarily. "Hello," greeted a white mech, walking up towards them. "Oh, you're Impactor, aren't you?"

The ex-Decepticon only stared as the Wrecker nodded to the stranger.

"Glad you could make it. Is this the one?," the mech glanced at Snare now, optics fixed on his injured leg. "Ah, yes. I can see the damage is extensive. Well, not to worry, we can repair this easily."

He was a medic! Snare finally took notice of the medical decals painted on the stranger's bulky calves; matching the ones that hung intermittently throughout the clinic. Impactor had brought him to a medi-clinic? The Predator started as gentle servos replaced the harpoonist's crushing grip, the nameless medic smiling kindly at the flyer.

"Why don't we get you to an operating room so that leg can be looked at, hm? Oh," the stranger paused, turning to look back at the silent Impactor, "Just talk to the receptionist over there by the doors." He pointed to a desk to the far left. "She'll explain what the tasks are and help get you set up."

The purple mech nodded once, then turned to walk away. He didn't look back as Snare was escorted down another hall; the flyer uncertain and more than a little confused at this turn of events.

 **vi.**

He couldn't rest. Too weary for another long flight outside but too wound up for recharge, Snare decided to wander the ship in a half-awake daze, hoping that the exercise would ease his troubled thoughts. It didn't really but the Predator had been at it for a while now that he just didn't have the spark to break the routine. He made his way through the galley again, walking along the dimmed halls, before circling to walk up past the command deck for the umpteenth time that orn. He noticed, belatedly, that there was a glow coming from the bridge that was brighter than the usual light of instruments on standby.

Should he check it out?

The ex-Decepticon knew it could be only Impactor in there (it was just the two of them, after all) but...

His pause was reason enough to inch closer quietly, taking care to muffle any sound from his pedes. A conversation with the Wrecker was the very last thing Snare wanted to deal with right now but curiosity could not be swayed. Positioned behind the door frame now, the Predator slowly leaned forward, peeking into the room with one optic as he heard an unknown vocalizer start.

"You're certainly a hard mech to find..."

"How'd you get this frequency?," Impactor growled, hunched low over the console. The mech, barely visible on the other side, chuckled softly, without any real humor in his vocalizer.

"You're still a wanted mech, Impactor. No matter where you go, you can still be found," the stranger said. Snare's optics narrowed. He knew a threat when he heard one. "And unless you wish to be incarcerated in a _box_ this time, I would suggest you pay great heed to my words."

Impactor looked like he might punch through the computer screen, but he only clenched his fists tightly for an astrosecond before curling further forward into the console. "What do you want, Prowl?," the Wrecker asked flatly.

Prowl?! The Predator felt his wings raise in alarm. He had heard of the Autobot's infamous tactician before... He had never been aware that the mech had a penchant for blackmail though. It made him wonder what other deceitful things the praxian might have done, under his cool-headed facade.

"I have need of your certain set of skills," Prowl was saying, his tone curt.

"So you want me to do your dirty work," the Wrecker scowled. "I thought that was against the Autobot code." No answer from the other mech. "Unfortunately, I'm not handling anyone's trash anymore. I'm reformed."

"We," came the tactician's lightning fast reprimand, "Are at _war_ , if you have forgotten. Your _feelings_ matter little to me, Impactor, nor your sudden growth of 'conscience'. You _will_ accept this mission, and you will comply to every single command I give you. If you can take care of this task quickly and proficiently than I may even clear your record as reward. Think about it. You'd be a free mech again, Impactor. You could rejoin the Wreckers -Springer- under good faith."

Snare wanted to vocalize his presence at the bald-faced lie, but he felt his glossa catch as he saw the harpoonist hesitate in responding. He really was thinking about this. A crushing sensation seemed to be dragging the flyer to the floor...

"If... If I do this, you absolutely _have to_ clear my record. Not a single charge left," the Wrecker mumbled, "And this stays hush-hush."

"But of course." The fragging praxian had the audacity to sound smug.

"Fine. I'm yours," Impactor complied heavily, his whole frame sagging.

The Predator was already heading down the staircase from the bridge as silent as he had come, when he heard Prowl's poisonous vocalizer echo into the halls behind him. "Glad to hear it. Next time, don't deliberate so long; we both know what type of mech you _really_ are."

 **vii.**

"What... what are you doing in my room?"

Impactor paused, looking back at Snare standing in the doorway and couldn't even compose his face into some sort of emotion. It took all over the flyer's effort not to simply crush the energon ration in his servo as the Wrecker turned away from him again, continuing on in his task before the ex-Decepticon had arrived.

"Hello? Hey, I'm talking to you!" The Predator stormed up to the purple mech, giving him a shove. "Why the slag are you sneaking into my room while I'm out?!"

The Autobot merely closed up the case he had laid out on Snare's berth, facing the other calmly. Snare opened his mouth, ready to snarl another demand at the intruder, but stumbled as he noticed the fresh coat of paint standing out clearly on the other's chestplates.

"Is... You painted over your faction m-?"

"We'll be reaching a galactic ship port shortly," Impactor interrupted, refusing to acknowledge the finger pointing at the obvious alteration on his frame. "You can disembark and proceed from there. I've already ensured you are packed and ready to go."

"Go? What-?"

But the Wrecker was already brushing past and exiting the room. Snare stood rooted in place, struggling to process what had just occurred. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, numb fingers opening up the case. Inside sat his few things and enough rations for a decacycle, alongside a couple other knick knacks. There was even a blaster, armed and loaded, suited for his smaller servos. Intakes cycling shakily, the Predator locked the case back up, leaning against the lid heavily as a wave of vertigo hit.

So... this really was the end...

Snare's optics slowly offlined as he quietly absorbed the implications of this sudden change.

 **viii.**

As soon as they'd landed, Impactor had lowered the dock door. He'd already been in communication with some traders over the open lines while flying and had some merchandise, along with fuel and energon, waiting for pick up. He was in the middle of pulling aside some crates for bartering, after ambling down to the cargo bay, when he noticed Snare walk past.

He walked surely, helm held high, as he stepped down off the dock and into the port crowd, suitcase bouncing against his repaired hip.

There was no goodbyes. No second glances or final touches. Just the strong tap of those smaller pedes... and then the Predator was gone from sight. Fingers curling tighter around the crate in his grasp, Impactor turned stiffly and continued to load up the shuttle's hover-dolly. This, he told himself, was how it should be.

He would not listen to anything stating otherwise.

 **ix.**

For the massive size and respective noise of the engines, it was unnervingly silent throughout the ship. From prow to underbelly, the absence of sound resonated, almost as if the vacuum of space inhabited the insides of the craft. It kept the Wrecker up as the orns passed in never-ending monotony; pacing the empty halls and bridge in a desperate search to find anything to fill the void. Every cycle ended the same: unsuccessful.

He'd have to trade the ship, Impactor rationalized. Without Guzzle or Snare... Well, there wasn't much point to all the square footage for a simple mech like the Wrecker. Not to mention, he'd need a more inconspicuous craft for the tasks Prowl had lined up for him. That's what he'd do, the purple warrior decided, pushing down the uncomfortable twisting in his fuel tanks at the thought of parting with the ship. Maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get some recharge in when there were less nooks and crannies for the silence to spread...

A ping sounded loudly in the quiet bridge.

Impactor turned about slowly, almost marvelled anything could still make noise on this Primus-forsaken vessel, when he realized nearly a klik later that the ping was actually coming from him. Someone was hailing his private frequency...

The Wrecker answered it at once, grinding his denta tightly in preparation for Prowl's obnoxious vocalizer. Instead, to his surprise, silence reigned for a long time... to the point that Impactor was poised to sever the link, when a series of clicks and beeps echoed out over the void- cryptic bits of sound used in place of verbal comms when in dangerous territory. The sequence was, oddly, a mix of Autobot and Decepticon.

 _'So, that's really it...?'_

The harpoonist stood rooted in place. Snare? The knotting worsened, even as his spark jolted at the translated message. Was it really the Predator though? It had to be! Not many had access to the Wrecker's comm frequency and it had been decacycles since the minibot had shoved off on his own... There was only way to find out. The link was still open; the sender still transmitting a signal. Impactor loomed over the bridge dashboard, his fingers flying across the controls as he hurried to trace the unknown messenger.

For the second time in less than a cycle, the purple mech was left stunned by his findings.

 **x.**

There was nothing more unsettling, then to online with every joint and piston aching, to find a grim face looming over you. But given other previous wake ups, Snare decided this one probably wasn't as bad.

"...What the slag were you doing frozen to the hull of my ship?," Impactor growled, after a lengthy silence of watching wing tips and fingers cautiously wiggle on the flyer's frame. Snare opened his mouth to reply, yet only managed a nasty spit of static before realizing that his vocalizer hadn't rebooted fully still. "And why the frag are you even here?," the purple mech demanded when he got no response, slamming his fists against the berth, bouncing his smaller guest. "I told you to shove off!"

Snare managed a glare despite the Wrecker's low snarling, shuffling to try and roll over.

"Oh, don't even bother!," the harpoonist snapped, turning away as his frame began to rattle with pent-up frustration. "It's a wonder you didn't snuff your spark out; you were practically a block of ice! How long had you been there, huh?! That settlement I left you on is orns away!"

"I-i...,"Snare croaked, finally managing to push himself up into a sitting position out of sheer stubbornness, "I may ha-have h-hesitated in contacting you t-too long... I a-am assuming you g-got my comm..."

Impactor spun around angrily, ready to throttle the smart-aft jet. He froze in place though as he saw the Predator slowly unclip his mask, pulling it away as he looked up at the Wrecker. The open, naked expression there forced his vocalizer to mute instantly.

"L-listen...," the ex-Decepticon began, static warbling between his words a little still, "Listen _closely_ , because I am only going to say this once. I-i... I've done some thinking. I'm staying."

"No...," the purple mech shook his helm rapidly, pacing away from Snare as he spoke, "No, no... No, you are _not_ staying! I am not doing this again. It's become quite apparent that none of this is working; you're done, free! You're getting off at the next stop and you're not getting back on, understand?"

The Predator frowned, and Impactor tried desperately not to think about how it made that soft face look so cute. "And why not? Nothing's different than before!"

" _It is!_ ," Impactor roared, finally losing his patience. He vented heavily, turned away from the flyer, clenching his fists as a means to direct all the anger, and fear, and uncertainty... "That orn in the galley -you were _terrified_ of me! Of...o-of what I would do..." A fist punched the wall as the Wrecker fought against the sudden wave of nausea. "I d-didn't... I wasn't aware that you never hard-linked before! Most of us older generations know it -did it- before external interface gear became more than a fad and ultimately replaced traditional methods. It's, it's not like a spark-bond b-but... but I would have _never_ made you do it if I'd known..."

Snare stared quietly at the harpoonist's back, unable to find a single syllable with which to utter. A servo, unwittingly, had slid up his torso and clutched at his canopy tightly; torn between fright at the too-fresh memory and disbelief at the other's confession. He wasn't all that young, by any means really, but had... had he really onlined after such a pivotal point in their evolution?

"I'm... going back to the Wreckers," the purple mech sighed, so exhausted as the wild flux of emotions settled down. He tried desperately not to think about the isolation that would resume once he got rid of Snare again... "I'm better and I've got things to d-"

"I know about Prowl." The Predator's soft words cut Impactor off; alarmed, he glanced over his shoulder to the flyer, watching as green optics rose from the floor to lock with his own. Without the mask, Snare's unmarred face exponentially reflected the flicker of concern in his gaze. Concern for the ex-Autobot.

"I overheard... Don't follow him, Impactor. He's full of lies. You've...," Snare scowled ferociously, leaning forward on the berth as he continued passionately, "You _are_ better than he thinks! You've made so much progress; I know your friend Springer would be proud of you. Don't throw that away for some fragger, desperate to choke you with your past faults! The war is over for you. You don't need to fight his battles. If you think you do, then you're a bigger moron than I've ever known!"

Impactor was only staring. Snare realized this after an astrosecond, his wings hiking up in mild discomfort. "What?," he mumbled.

"...Why," the Wrecker started slowly, "Did you free me on Garrus-9?" The Predator gave him a look that clearly said 'this again?' but the harpoonist only pressed on. "The truth."

The ex-Decepticon opened his mouth as though to say something else, but, he hesitated; gaze dropping to the floor an inch. "I... I meant what I said before. I believed in you. I had nothing else."

"And coming back... even now...?"

Snare picked at the edge of the berth with his fingers. "Where else should I go? There's... I just _want_ to be here... No place else."

He barely registered the first step before Impactor had suddenly crossed the room, scooping the Predator up and capturing him in a heated kiss. Stunned, it took all of five astroseconds before Snare began to struggle, punching the larger mech in the gut to break the lip-lock. "W-what the slag was that for?!," he snapped, green optics blazing indignantly.

"Couldn't help it," Impactor grinned smugly. "You're real cute without that mask to hide behind. Now, come on," he grunted as the flyer snatched up his mouthguard. He rested a servo gently on Snare's arm to stop him from snapping it back in place. "At least when it's just us... Can you not wear it? You're so fragging unreadable otherwise and I'm trying really hard here not to frag this up."

"Fine," Snare acquiesced after some deliberation, subspacing the mask for the time being. He had never gone longer than a few moments without it on and already he was feeling exposed. Especially with the Wrecker studying him so intently. "I'm not cute."

"Sure you aren't."

"And you're an aft," the Predator hissed, shaking off the other mech's arm.

"Don't doubt it," Impactor replied, turning and sitting on the berth beside the ex-Decepticon with a groan. Clearly he was more tired than he'd initially let on. Once comfortable, he held up his servo. "Could I...? Just for a bit longer. Kinda like feeling you."

Snare rolled his optics in exasperation but nodded, finding that he really didn't mind the servo wrapping around his waist, pulling him just a little closer to the Wrecker's broader frame. His circuits still felt chilled from his too-long exposure out in space's numbing cold and the heat from the tank was welcome; so long as it didn't immediately follow with other more nauseating "pastimes". "I hope you don't expect an interface every klik," he informed stately, trying to fill the lull in conversation.

"It doesn't really happen much now," Impactor frowned in confusion.

"Exactly. I'll... make an effort... occasionally. The _rare_ occasion," the Predator elaborated. His mouth twisted in a slight scowl at the thought of any spike nearing his loathesome valve, yet he noted to himself that he wasn't lying. Not like before. "Maybe do the hard-link thing. Again. Since you like it."

"How sweet," the harpoonist chuckled, kissing the side of the flyer's temple. He received an annoyed swat that only made him chuckle some more, before burying his face in the groove of the smaller mech's neck, cycling deeply. He would not be jostled from his spot, even when Snare shook his wings.

"I'm not going to magically change either. Nor have some sort of 'interfacing epiphany', got it?"

Impactor only nuzzled in deeper to his chosen resting place and the Predator, surprisingly, let him. "Glad to hear it. I can live doing just this... mostly... and I kinda like you the way you already are now. Even when you piss me off so bad sometimes that I wanna slam your helm into the wall. Repeatedly."

A small, soft snort escaped Snare at that comment. He didn't have anything to say to that, because, well, he knew what the Wrecker's temper was like. And in some ways, he liked that about Impactor too. He didn't want the purple warrior to change neither. How peculiar that they'd both come to admire these less-than-positive traits about each other. Pulling his knees up to his torso, the flyer decided to enjoy this unusual moment of rest with the harpoonist slumped up against his frame. It had been such a long time since he could last recall having such a reprieve... He knew there were still many unknown variables: where to go from here, what to do, how to keep away from Prowl and other such toxic mechs, that he could reasonably not dismiss them so on a whim. But for now, right here, everything felt okay. From the flaming pits of Garrus-9, through misadventure after misadventure with a crew as marred as he was, it looked as if he had finally found a place to belong.

Snare's lonely journey had come to an end.

 **C.M.D: And we, dear readers, have finally reached the end. Hard to believe that just over a year ago I started this fic... A great deal of thought and love went into this project and though I had a million ways that I could have taken this story, this is ultimately where my fingers led me. And honestly, I'm really happy with the results. Thank you for joining me (and Snare) on this eventful journey and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it! Now I got about seventeen months worth of comics to catch up with...  
Before you go: be kind, give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


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